


First Life

by hopeboos



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Best Friends, Character Death, Childhood Friends, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, Slow Burn, Terminal Illnesses, hansol just loves his best friends, seokmin is sweetie pie best boy in the world, seungkwan cries a lot and has a massive crush on hansol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-06-03
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:14:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 57,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24134923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hopeboos/pseuds/hopeboos
Summary: Lee Seokmin dies in the early hours of Tuesday morning. Hansol wakes up, gets dressed for school, and walks into his kitchen. Instead of his usual toast, his mom has made bacon and eggs, already set out on the table.“Hansol,” she says. “You’re not going into school today.”And that’s how he finds out his best friend is dead.orAfter the death of their best friend, Seungkwan and Hansol figure out how they fit back together.
Relationships: Boo Seungkwan & Chwe Hansol | Vernon & Lee Seokmin | DK, Boo Seungkwan & Lee Seokmin | DK, Boo Seungkwan/Chwe Hansol | Vernon, Chwe Hansol | Vernon & Lee Seokmin | DK
Comments: 121
Kudos: 208





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> in case you somehow missed the warning, tag, and summary on your way here, here's your final content warning for major character death! grief/loss is the central theme here, so if you are very sensitive (especially to terminal illnesses), please be careful and know your limits
> 
> i had some songs i associated w the fic during writing so i made some very short 15min playlists for each chapter. if you're into that sort of thing, the first one is [here](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL0ACAj6h3K86Y91dS-hHl1_NnLYMN1rct)
> 
> im using the international system for ages. enjoy :)

2016.6.13 / Seongnam / Hansol

Lee Seokmin dies in the early hours of Tuesday morning. Hansol wakes up, gets dressed for school, and walks into his kitchen. Instead of his usual toast, his mom has made bacon and eggs, already set out on the table.

“Hansol,” she says. “You’re not going into school today.”

And that’s how he finds out his best friend is dead.

He eats his bacon and eggs and then they head to the Boo household together. Ma opens the door with red eyes and brings Hansol into a tight hug. He holds her back, and lets her cry into his shoulder. She ushers him in, going to hug his mom too, so he moves past her into the house.

In the main room, Seungkwan is crying into Sojeong’s shoulder, cheeks wet and face red. When he sees Hansol, he reaches out to him like an infant asking help; open, unashamed, and deeply unsettled. So Hansol sits on the other side of him, and lets him cry into his shoulder, body wracking with loud sobs. Sojeong stays beside them, eyes distant.

The two of them sit together, and later lie in Seungkwan’s bed together, for the whole day. People talk around them, and they talk together, but it’s nothing. They talk, and talk, and Seokmin is dead. He was alive yesterday; he is dead today. He was alive for barely nineteen years, and now he is dead. He’s not coming back.

Something is gone from inside his chest, leaving him hollow. The word is unfair. Seokmin is dead, and there’s nothing he can do about it. The best he can do is hold his other best friend, and let him cry.

-

2005.9.3 / Seongnam / Seungkwan

“I think he’s from America,” he whispers, peering at the new boy taking his chair. Seokmin takes a glance over at him, looking back at Seungkwan quickly, but Seungkwan stares without shame, as several others in the class are.

“He’s a foreigner?” Seokmin says.

“Yeah. Well, no, I heard him speaking Korean.”

“Really? He doesn’t look like he would speak Korean.”

“He does! I heard it! Anyway, it makes sense, doesn’t it? Why would you come to school in Korea if you can’t speak Korean?”

“Anyone who doesn’t finish their worksheet by the end of the hour will be taking it home for extra homework!” their teacher calls, and all eyes return back to the worksheets on the table.

When they’re let out for their break, Seungkwan is the first to approach the new kid. He knows this, because the other kids eye him up as he does, watching for his fate. The boy is surprised too, his eyes going wide when Seungkwan stops in front of him in the coat room.

“What’s your name?” he demands. He can feel Seokmin nervously hovering at his shoulder.

“Hansol,” the boy says, looking unsure. “What’s yours?”

“Seungkwan,” he says. He turns to Seokmin expectantly.

“I’m Seokmin.”

Seungkwan nods at him, satisfied, and turns back to Hansol. “You came from America, right?”

“Yes,” Hansol says, picking his coat off the peg and not meeting his eyes.

“Will you tell us what it’s like?” Seokmin blurts.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “You should tell us everything!”

Hansol shrugs. “It’s just a place. It’s not that interesting.”

“It is,” he insists. “I heard things are really big over there. Like huge burgers and stuff. That’s what my dad says anyway. Won’t you come and play with us?”

Hansol looks up at them again, and Seungkwan finds him fascinating. He doesn’t look like anyone else he’s ever met.

“Play?”

“Let’s play, and you can tell us about America at the same time!” Seokmin says.

The coat room is empty but for them, with only a few stragglers not-so subtly watching their conversation from the door. Seungkwan sends them a stern look, and they turn to run outside for their break.

“Okay. Where do you guys play?”

They run outside to show Hansol the playground, and Seungkwan pushes Chan away from the monkey bars so that they can play on them together. In between their turns, Hansol tells them about the big roads in New York City, and about how his first-grade class had been full of lots of people who looked different. How strange it is to be in Korea, where everyone looks the same—apart from him, who only looks like his sister.

“But no one told me I looked weird in America. Everyone looks at me funny here.”

“You don’t look weird,” Seokmin tells him, as Seungkwan huffs, reaching for the next bar with his arms straining. “You look cool.”

“Thanks,” Hansol says, and Seungkwan drops to the playground floor, landing on his feet. Their teacher is at the door, calling the class back in.

“You didn’t finish telling us about your school,” he says. “You should come over after school so we can finish talking about America.”

“Yeah!” Seokmin says. “His mom makes the best seafood. You should come!”

Hansol looks between them. “Are you sure?”

“Of course!” Seungkwan says, ushering him back to the school before they get a warning. “I want to hear more about the big food!”

-

2016.6.16 / Seongnam / Seungkwan

Seokmin’s parents had asked the two of them to do a speech at the memorial, but Hansol had politely declined. He’s adamant that he’s not good at speaking, and that he could never do Seokmin enough justice. So Seungkwan is doing a speech alone, because talking is the one thing he can do, as long as he’s not crying at the same time. His priority for today is to avoid bursting into tears in the middle of his sentences, as he’s been prone to do over the last few days.

Except the Chwes are arriving here before the service, and when Hansol knocks on his bedroom door he has to swallow down the lump in his throat. It’s always been the three of them, for as long as he can remember, and every time he sees Hansol he half expects Seokmin to come through the door behind him. When he doesn’t, the fact that Seokmin is dead digs in deeper, and he has to turn away to bury the thought.

He wonders if Hansol thinks the same whenever he sees Seungkwan. Maybe this is their curse now. Wondering how to overcome the huge, unfillable gap between them.

“You ready?”

He looks back into the mirror, at his own glassy eyes. “No. I never could be.”

“Yeah. I know.”

Hansol comes over to stand beside Seungkwan, looking over his shoulder and into the mirror as he does up the last few buttons on his shirt. He glances back into the mirror too, at the two of them together. He can’t stand the sight of it for long, and turns away to pick up his blazer. “What about you? Are you ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

As expected, the service is full of people. He doesn’t know most of them. He knows Seokmin’s immediate family, and he recognises some of Seokmin’s friends from choir, but they’ve never been properly introduced. Most of the rest seem to be extended family members who’ve travelled into Seongnam for the service, or older family friends. Some of Seokmin’s medical team are sitting together at the back.

Throughout the service, people stand up and say nice things about Seokmin. The ceremony is supposed to be a celebration of his life, which is important, but it’s hard to understand how it helps anything. People say things like _he brought happiness to those around him, even on his hardest days._ They remind the room of his love for singing, his characteristic kindness, his endless love for friends and family. He doesn’t know how any of this is supposed to be a comfort, when it only reminds him that all the goodness Seokmin had is gone, permanently.

When it’s his turn, Hansol squeezes his hand before untangling their fingers so he can go to the front. He turns at the podium to face the room of people, and doesn’t attempt a smile, though he knows his face is swollen from all the crying.

“Hello, everyone. I’ve been asked to come up here and talk to you today about Seokmin, my best friend. At this point, I don’t know what there is left to say about him that hasn’t already been said. So many people here have been impacted by his kindness, his talent, and his genuine heart. He’s an amazing person.”

Was an amazing person.

He swallows, and waits for the lump in his throat to shift so he can speak again. “It’s unbelievable to me that a person as bright as him could ever be gone. He’s the sort of person who seems eternal. Someone that everyone should know, who could be friends with anyone. The goodness in him is something the earth should always have. I’m heartbroken for his loss, but also for everyone around him, and for everyone who should’ve known him, but never got the chance. We’ve lost someone unbelievably precious.

“But that doesn’t mean we can’t value our memories together. I have so many good memories with him. It would be impossible to pick one anecdote to sum him up with, and if you’re here today, I’m sure he touched you in your own, unique way. He was special to all of us. So instead of telling you about him, I will tell you one thing about us, instead.

“The best way we can process this loss is to be kind. Be good. Take the experience of knowing Seokmin, and use it to be better. He barely reached adulthood, but he was a better person than a lot of people with double or triple the life experience that he had. If you remember him through his good heart, then Seokmin will not be gone. Follow his example, and impact the world the way he did. There’s nothing we can do about death, but there are many things we can do about how we live.

“I’m sorry these aren’t words of comfort, or sweet memories. I’m still young, and I don’t know how to handle grief. I don’t know how we move on from here. What I do know is that we have do our best for his sake. Thank you all for loving him very much—I hope you will go on to live with even more love. I hope you will love him still.”

He bows and takes his seat again, flushed and feeling strangely distant from the light applause around him. Like he left his body empty a little while ago, spirit barely tied down. Hansol puts an arm around his shoulders and pulls him close, and it anchors him a little.

Later, they hold hands as the hall empties out around them. He’s numb all over, and glad that Hansol is holding on tight, stopping him from slipping away.

-

2007.11.13 / Seongnam / Hansol

“But I wanted to do Grease!” Seungkwan pouts. “Grease Lightning!”

“The movie is just called _Grease_ ,” Hansol informs him, and Seokmin waves his stick around wildly. Before he can say anything else, Hansol shouts, “Expelliarmus!” and points his own stick at Seokmin.

Seokmin throws his own stick with a look of surprise.

Seungkwan scrunches up his nose in distaste. “I haven’t seen Harry Potter! You guys just talk nonsense about it all the time.”

“Harry Potter!” Seokmin hisses, flattening his nose. “Harry!”

“Did you put your name in the goblet of fire?” Hansol says, and Seokmin laughs at the quick English, breaking character.

Seungkwan stomps his foot. “I can’t join in!”

“Maybe if you’d watched it, you’d know what we were talking about,” he says, turning his wand on Seungkwan. “Avada Kedavra!”

“But we all know Grease Lightning!”

“It’s just _Grease_ ,” he corrects again. “And that’s only because you made us sit through it at your house three times already.”

Seungkwan crosses his arms in front of his chest. “Grease Lightning is way more fun. It has songs.”

“It’s _Grease_ , Seungkwan.”

“I don’t care!”

“How about we do both?” Seokmin says, picking up his stick-wand from the street. With the other hand, he flattens his nose, returning to the Voldemort impression. “Grease Lightning!”

Hansol laughs, and Seungkwan gives a laugh despite himself, though he quickly shakes it off.

“That doesn’t make any sense. I want to be Sandy! I want to fall in love, but you’re both stupid wizards!”

“Oh, Sandy,” Seokmin says hoarsely, coming up to Seungkwan and shimmying his shoulders. “Grease Lightning!”

He uncrosses his arms, and laughs in Seokmin’s face. “Stop. That looks dumb. Let’s just play something else.”

“But Sandy!” Seokmin says, then pauses for thought, trying to come up with some other reference to Grease. “Sandy!”

Hansol laughs again. “Let’s make something up instead!”

“Like what?”

“Like anything. We could be pirates and kidnap Sandy.”

“Sandy!” Seokmin exclaims, going for Seungkwan’s legs, but he doesn’t have the strength to pick him up. Seokmin is a year older than them both after having delayed entry into school as a kid, but he’s no bigger or stronger than either of them. Seungkwan is the biggest, actually, which is why he goes straight to the floor when Seokmin tries to lift him.

“Sandy doesn’t want to be kidnapped!” he shouts, and wrestles him onto his back.

Seokmin starts screaming, conceding in seconds, pinned to the floor under Seungkwan. Hansol is laughing like crazy watching them, and Seungkwan stands up again, complaining about not having more normal friends.

“Fine! At least if we play pirates, I’m being Jack Sparrow.”

“No way!” Hansol says, pointing his stick at Seungkwan now. “I’m definitely the captain!”

“You’re not much of a captain without any crew!” he shouts, and grabs Seokmin’s arm, hauling him up from the street floor. “Come on!”

Seungkwan drags Seokmin along as they start running up the next street, laughing together and looking back at Hansol.

“Mutiny!” he cries, grinning as he runs after them, stick waving in the air.

-

2016.6.19 / Seongnam / Hansol

They’re back in school on Monday, left with a few final exams before school officially ends. Mom hadn’t wanted him to come in at all, but Seungkwan and his Ma are convinced that he should try and complete them, and he couldn’t let Seungkwan come into school alone. So he walks into the exam hall thinking _Seokmin is dead,_ and walks out thinking _Seokmin is dead_ , and doesn’t remember much in between; the two of them leave the school together afterwards, ignoring the looks from other students headed to their study groups.

“I don’t think I got a single answer right in that stupid exam,” Seungkwan says, kicking a rock on the road. It’s quiet in the residential streets, everyone at work or school apart from them. “I really need to study for the last ones.”

“Do you actually think you could study if you tried? I can’t even read messages right now. It’s so much effort.”

“I need to do something. Ma gets worried whenever I sit and do nothing. And she’s right, I do better when I’m busy.”

“It’s not like it’s easy to get things done, though. I didn’t even know what exam it was before I sat down and saw the paper, to be honest.”

Seungkwan laughs, empty, and knocks their elbows together. “We’re so screwed.”

“Nah. The school said they’d submit a special circumstances notice to the exam board for us. We’ll be okay. At least we did most of the important ones before all this.”

“Not like it was easy to study then, either.”

He thinks back to rushed hospital visits, the late nights of anxiety, the whispers of his parents from the other side of the house. “Yeah. True.”

Taking the streets to Seokmin’s house is as familiar as breathing, as familiar as the path to his own home. With no Seokmin at the end, though, arriving is so very different. Seokmin’s mother greets them at the door, giving them both firm hugs and copious kisses. She’s never been one to kiss guests, but neither of them mention it.

“It’s good to see you boys. I hope your exam went well?”

“As well as you could hope,” Seungkwan says, and she nods, cupping his cheek.

“You’re both very strong,” she tells them, reaching out to squeeze Hansol’s arm. “I admire you so much for how mature you’ve been.”

They follow her through to Seokmin’s bedroom, and he puts a gentle hand to Seungkwan’s back when they step into the room. He’s not usually the one to initiate contact between them, but it feels important to reach out, give a gesture of support. One of comfort, too—Seungkwan likes that sort of thing.

She picks up the documents from the desk, flicking through them. “He didn’t specify what he wanted for everything he owned, but he did write a few things down. You might have to help me find some of them. I haven’t wanted to tidy yet, you know….”

“Don’t worry about it,” he says. He has a four-day old mug of cold coffee in his bedroom that’s starting to stick to the window ledge. Seokmin’s bedroom is a dream in comparison.

Mrs. Lee clears her throat, and starts to read out the document. “To Hansol Vernon Chwe, I leave the _Star Wars_ Lego set we used to play with, so that he’ll finally have the full set. Please say sorry to Mrs. Chwe for filling her house with more Lego.”

For the first time in what feels like an age, he can feel a smile growing on his face. “No way! That’s what he left me?”

They haven’t played in a few years now, but those Lego sets are ridiculously nostalgic for him. It was something Seungkwan got bored with quickly, so they’d often play when it was just the two of them, Seungkwan at a singing lesson or visiting his Dad or away at summer camp. They’d re-enact their favourite scenes by merging Seokmin’s set with his; between them, they had the full _Star Wars_ collection. Despite not having seen it in a while, he knows exactly where it’s kept.

He goes over to the wardrobe, opens it, and pulls out the tub out from the back corner. “I bet you won’t be sad to see this go, Eomma.”

“You know, I still find pieces between furniture and on low shelves, though he hasn’t played with Lego outside of the bedroom in years,” Mrs. Lee says. “I don’t think I’ll ever be rid of them.”

“Is there anything else?” Seungkwan asks.

She looks back at the paper. “I also leave him all of my consoles and games, yu-gi-oh cards, action figures, and any other game, relic, book, or artefact that he wants. Just don’t beat my high scores, or I will come back and haunt you.”

Seungkwan shifts from foot to foot while Hansol beams. “Thank you, Mrs. Lee.”

“Don’t thank me. He was always thinking about you two,” she says, though she’s smiling too. “Now, to Boo Seungkwan: I leave my scrapbook. It’s on the top shelf, to the left. I hope you’ll be able to look through it and remember the good times. Also, any other belonging he wishes to keep him company.”

Seungkwan’s eyes are welling up before he even makes it to the bookcase. The scrapbook is clear, now that it’s been pointed out to them—a thick book standing amongst textbooks and Minecraft guides and the general clutter of Seokmin’s shelves. He pulls it free, and carefully opens it—the pages part easily, packed full of stuck-down photographs, movie tickets, and sketches, the odd note labelling them.

A tear drops from Seungkwan’s cheek onto the book, and he quickly wipes at the page before shutting the book again. He drags his sleeves across his cheeks, and Hansol gently thumbs away the tear clinging to the corner of his lashes.

“Thank you,” he says to Mrs. Lee, voice wet.

“There’s one more thing,” she says, so softly he barely hears her. “To Boo Seungkwan and Hansol Vernon Chwe, I leave my endless love.” She puts the documents back down on the desk and opens the drawer underneath. Seungkwan sobs, and turns into Hansol, muffling his crying in his shoulder. The hard corner of the scrapbook digs into his side, but he doesn’t move away.

Mrs. Lee turns back around, an envelope in each hand. He reaches for the one with his name on, and Seungkwan wipes his hands on his jeans before accepting his.

“If you want to take some clothes or anything else from the room, it would have a better home with you. Don’t be reluctant, okay?”

He thanks her, bowing slightly, and Seungkwan does the same. “Thank you, really.”

Mrs. Lee smiles at them, shiny-eyed. “No, thank you. You made him very happy for a long time. If there’s anything you need, you can come to us, alright?”

“We will. Thank you.”

As soon as she leaves the room, Seungkwan sinks to the floor, clutching the scrapbook and letter to his chest. Hansol drops down to sit next to him—it feels too wrong to sit on Seokmin’s bed without him here. It isn’t even made, covers hanging halfway off the bed from the last time he’d woken up. Or the last hospital rush.

“Are you going to open it?” he asks, pointing at the envelope.

“No.”

He stands, tucking the letter carefully into his back pocket. “Yeah, I think I’ll wait too. You want to come and look?” He walks back to the wardrobe, doors still open.

“No,” he says again, watching Hansol rifle through hangers. “His dress sense is sub-par.”

He pulls out the items he recognises best, slinging t-shirts over one shoulder and jackets over the other, a pair of jeans for good measure. They should be about the same size in everything. “You don’t want anything? Not even a hoodie?” He pulls out one of Seokmin’s better-loved hoodies—grey with a pizza slice graphic on the front—and throws it at Seungkwan.

He catches it, holding it out like it’s a fragile relic. “It feels wrong.”

He shuts the wardrobe, mindful not to take too much despite what Mrs. Lee had said. He has a handful of t-shirts, mostly, more of the stuff that Seokmin liked than anything to his own taste. He doesn’t want to see them gather dust. “It might help, you know. When you miss him.”

“I always miss him.”

“I know. Me too. But at least you’d have it if you ever needed it.”

“Mm. I suppose.”

Between the two of them, they manage carry the Lego pack and Seokmin’s PS4 back to the Chwe household. Mrs. Lee had insisted they take some of Seokmin’s bags for the load, and he can tell Seungkwan hates the idea. Still, he doesn’t want him to regret not taking anything in a few years time, when Seokmin’s stuff is inevitably faded and unused or donated away to charity. So he doesn’t press it when Seungkwan leaves the bag behind, but makes sure he takes the grey hoodie with him. Just in case.

He doesn’t have the energy to do much of anything with his evening. He eats, and turns into bed early and lays in the dark with his thoughts. Some time passes, and he drifts in and out of sleep until the house settles down. With everyone in his house is asleep, he feels alone.

He turns on his desk lamp, and pulls the envelope out of his jeans.

The writing on the page is scrawled, messier than Seokmin’s usual handwriting. He must’ve written it during one of his infections. Maybe in the last few days, when he was constantly in pain and tired.

_Dear Hansol,_

_This is new, right? I don’t think I’ve written you a letter before! It’s kind of fun. I was thinking about leaving a bunch of letters for you to open in the future, but I don’t know what I would say in all of them. I feel like you know everything I could say, and it’s a bit embarrassing to put everything into words. But I’m here to say all the important things, just in case you don’t know._

_Firstly, I love you. You’re my best friend, and I’m really glad Seungkwan made you talk to us when you joined Elementary. Thank you for all the fun times, and thank you for sticking with me through the hard ones, and thank you for always being yourself._

_Secondly, I’m sorry. Knowing I’m going to die really sucks, but I know it’s hurting a lot of people around me, too. I wish I didn’t have to put you through all this with me, but at the same time, I’m so grateful for you. I don’t know what I’d do without your visits._

_Finally, take care of yourself, and take care of Seungkwan. It hurts that I won’t be able to see you guys for a long time, but at least you have each other. Live well, eat well, love well. They’re the three important parts of life, I think. Especially eating._

_I’m going to miss you, but don’t miss me too much, okay? I’ll see you soon!_

_Love and hugs,_

_Seokmin-hyung <3_

The weight in his chest is dense. He folds up the letter and slides it back into the envelope, placing it in his desk drawer. The room is dark, and sleep comes heavy.

-

2009.7.20 / Seongnam / Hansol

Seungkwan is swinging his legs restlessly as they wait together on the wall outside the Lee house. “Do you want to try volleyball today?”

“No, it’s no fun without more players. Handball is okay for three of us.”

“No ballgames are all that good for three players. What about netball?”

“Are you tired of handball now?”

“No! Handball is fine. Let’s play handball.”

Truthfully, he can’t always remember the differences between the three games. He just knows that handball is the easiest, and the best compromise between Seungkwan’s great passion for ballgames, and his own mild interest.

“I’m here!” Seokmin says, dragging a hoodie on as he darts out of his front door. Over his shoulder he calls, “Back later, Mom!”

“Let’s go!” Seungkwan says, gripping his ball under one arm. “Race you guys to the sports ground!”

“But it’s uphill the whole way!”

He can barely finish his complaint before Seungkwan is running, Seokmin in hand, dragging him along the path. Seokmin doesn’t resist, running along with him, so Hansol stands to chase after them. They know the way by heart, and take the quickest streets and hidden shortcuts together (slowing down to a brisk walk after a few minutes; the uphill slope is not forgiving).

Reaching the sports ground revitalises Seungkwan. He sees the ball court and straightens up, one hand on his hip, watching them both drag their feet to catch up with him. Seokmin’s breathing is short, and he’s doubled over to try and catch some air.

“Are you ready? I bet I can take you both on!” Seungkwan says, throwing up and catching the ball. “Come on!”

“Shouldn’t we take turns in pairs?” Seokmin wheezes.

“No! I can play against you both! Watch me!” He bounces the ball against the court, urging Seokmin and Hansol to take their side of the net.

“I’m surprised you’re not making more friends just to give us enough people for a volleyball team,” he remarks, pushing his sleeves up ready. “Do you want to take a minute, Hyung?”

“No, I’m fine.”

“Are you ready?” Seungkwan shouts over, and he shouts back the affirmative.

Seungkwan does pretty well at being his own team. He knows all the cool moves from his hours watching women’s volleyball, and regardless of how well he can perform them, he has all the enthusiasm of someone whose biggest dream is to meet his favourite team.

He wouldn’t say it, but it certainly helps that Hansol’s team is closer to one and a half players than two. Seokmin is enthusiastic, too—he loves to watch the volleyball games with Seungkwan, while Hansol would rather read, or play a game on his own. But Seokmin doesn’t have the same athletic energy as Seungkwan does, and it’s clear to Hansol that he’s struggling to keep up.

When a particularly strong serve from Seungkwan has Seokmin falling back instead of hitting back, Hansol goes to squat beside him instead of chasing after the ball.

“You okay, Hyung?”

“Yeah,” Seokmin huffs, but the air comes whistling through his lungs. He’s exhausted.

“Do you want to watch for a bit? I can handle Seungkwan, you know.”

“Are you okay?” Seungkwan’s voice sounds, running over to Seokmin’s other side. “Did you hurt yourself?”

“No, I’m okay.”

“Do you want to sit out and watch for a bit, Hyung?”

“Just a bit,” he agrees, holding his hands out. “Five minutes?”

Hansol takes both hands and pulls him up. “No problem. We could go to the arcade after this if you want?”

“Oh, yes!” Seungkwan says, running over to catch the ball before it starts rolling down the slope. “Let’s play a little longer, then go to the arcade.”

He plays with Seungkwan for a while longer than he really wants to, mostly to make up for Seokmin’s absence, who sits at the side for the rest of the hour slot they have there. Neither of them say anything about it; sometimes Seokmin gets like this, and it’s obvious he’s embarrassed by it, so they have this unspoken agreement to carry on as they were. It’s just how they work.

When they’re done with the game, they come to sit by him for a little while, catching their breath.

“You guys are getting really good now,” Seokmin says, hugging his knees. “It’s fun to watch. Almost as good as watching a KGC match!”

Seungkwan glows with the praise, and the sheen of sweat on his face. “Thanks. You did well, too.”

“Do you want to head to the arcade now?” Hansol suggests. “I’d have to stop by and check with my Mom, and pick up some money, but it could be fun…”

“Actually,” Seokmin says, quietly. “I think I might head back home, now. I don’t feel that great. Sorry.”

“That’s okay,” he says, as Seungkwan spins the ball in his hands anxiously. “We should probably go back to Kwanie’s and get something to eat, anyway. We played for so long.”

“Are you going to be okay?” Seungkwan says, hoisting the ball under one arm.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”

They stand together and walk back down the slope, through the shortcuts and winding streets back to Seokmin’s house again. He waves to them both with a smile. “I’ll see you guys at school!”

They wave their goodbyes and watch the door shut, then turn to go back to Seungkwan’s house, walking the winding streets together.

“Did you still want to go to the arcade?” Seungkwan asks, bouncing the ball once.

“I mostly said it for Hyung’s benefit. Let’s just go back to yours instead.”

“Okay.” Bounces it again. “I hope he’s okay.”

He steals the ball from him, throwing it into the air. “He’ll be fine. You know how he gets sometimes.”

“Yeah.” Steals the ball back. “I know.”

-

2016.6.30 / Seongnam / Seungkwan

Seokmin’s plaque was put up the day after his cremation, but between the exam stress and the cemetery’s awkward placement on the other side of the city, he and Hansol haven’t had the chance to go yet. His Ma and sisters have been, placed their own flowers and informed him that the location is beautiful. They stop off and buy their own flowers before they go—it’s been long enough that he knows the old ones will be dead.

They’re quiet on the bus ride there. The last few weeks have been exhausting, and the bus is so quiet that the rumble of the engine is soothes him. He spends the journey resting against Hansol, head on his shoulder and dozing off as the streets of Seongnam pass by. He holds their bouquet tight, and Hansol loosely holds his waist, and neither of them speak until their stop comes up.

The park is beautiful. The trees are blooming green at this time of year, aged and strong and vividly coloured with life. Windfall and bug-bitten leaves scatter the path into the park, and carefully planted pink flowers line the flowerbeds. The rows and rows of memorial plaques only come into view as they pass through the gate, set in the well-trimmed grass, flowers and the odd ancestral offering decorating the stones.

“Do you know where it is?” he asks. His chest heaves at the thought of looking through all these names to find his best friend.

“I’m not sure. Let’s keep a lookout for the old flowers.”

They walk together, barely speaking. It feels wrong in a place like this—like they’re disrespecting someone else’s home. The birth dates on every plaque they pass go back way before 1997, so it’s almost startling to spot Seokmin nestled amongst them. The old flowers are gone, so he places theirs down beside Seokmin’s smiling picture, and tries to swallow some more air.

He feels Hansol put an arm around his shoulders, and the weight is grounding. He wraps an arm back around his waist as they look down on the shiny new plaque together, honouring Seokmin’s last place marker on earth.

“It’s a nice place, here. He probably would’ve liked it.”

He nods vaguely. Seokmin would’ve preferred to be alive.

There are cherry blossoms drifting about the park, petals breezing by them occasionally but mostly littering the grass. In a gust of wind, they scatter over the engraving of his death date and half of his name. Seungkwan can almost pretend that it isn’t his plaque anymore. If he shuts his eyes, he can pretend that he’s just standing under the cherry blossoms with Hansol, visiting a park with his two best friends.

“Did you want to say anything?” Hansol asks.

“Not really.”

“Not much left to say, is there?”

They stand there for a few minutes. People in the park pass by them, and he looks at Seokmin’s picture for as long as he can bear it.

“Can we go?” he says, as a man holding a baby enters the cemetery.

“Okay. Bye, Hyung. Miss you.”

Seungkwan looks away and leads them back through the gate.

“Do you want to walk through the gardens for a bit? They’ve got some more flowerbeds over that way.”

“Sure.”

Hansol holds his hand loosely as they make their way along gravel path, framed by the artfully placed flowers and bushes lining the walk. They’re pretty to look at, but he finds it hard to properly appreciate much of anything lately.

“Man, this must be old,” Hansol says, craning his neck to look up at a great big oak tree in the centre of the park. “I could probably fit inside that trunk five times over.”

“Not after you’ve had seconds of Ma’s cooking.”

“You’re right about that.”

“She wants you to come over and eat with us tonight, by the way. She’s making japchae.”

Hansol groans appreciatively. “She’s amazing. Of course I will. What are we doing until then?”

“I don’t know. What is there to do in this part of town?”

“We could go see a movie, or something. Isn’t that new Tarzan movie showing? The one Hyung wanted to see?”

He twitches and pulls his hand from Hansol’s. “Why would you say that?”

“What?”

“I know he wanted to see it. Why would you talk about it like that?”

Hansol frowns at him. “Because it’s true?”

“We both know he can’t see it. Why would you bring it up?”

“I’m not. I didn’t mean it like that.”

He bites his tongue and turns away. “Okay.”

“Come on, don’t be like that. You know I wasn’t saying it to upset you.”

“Fine. Can we go home now?”

For a second, he thinks Hansol will persevere against him. But it’s rare for Seungkwan to drop a fight first, and he can see him breathing out, backing off. “Yeah. Okay.”

They walk to the bus stop in silence, and don’t touch each other on the way back home.

-

2011.3.17 / Seongnam / Seungkwan

He grabs Hansol as he’s coming out of Biology, taking his hand and pulls him down the school corridor. It’s important they get to the exit doors before the bell officially ends the school day to have any chance of getting ahead of the crowds.

“Seungkwan!” he calls, grasping his bag with one hand as they duck and weave through students. “I said I’d go to a study group this evening!”

“And let Seokmin suffer on his own?” he scoffs. He knows Hansol isn’t actually planning to study. He just likes to be contrary sometimes.

“I’m really bad at applied sciences!” he shouts, and the door to the main building comes into sight. Classes of students are being released around them as they run through the hallways, and he’s determined to get ahead of the school rush so as not to be held up at the street crossings.

“Then maybe you should actually listen in class!”

The school bell rings right as he reaches the main door and pushes through, several other speedy students spilling out with them. The two of them pull ahead, and Seungkwan starts to run towards the school gates. He can hear Hansol’s feet hitting the ground behind him, and smiles to himself. He knew Hansol would never choose something as boring as a study group over his best friends.

Once they’re over the initial main road crossing ahead of the rest of the school, it’s a straight shot to Seokmin’s from there. They can’t run the whole way, but he does maintain a speedy walk, keeping an ear out for cars doing the pick-up run, and dodging the parents with young children walking the streets. Hansol keeps up with him the whole way, only complaining mildly.

“You know it will be the same as ever. He’s sick all the time these days.”

“Well, excuse me for wanting to check my best friend isn’t back in the hospital!”

“We only saw him on Saturday!”

“So? I need to yell at him for not answering my texts.”

“Don’t tell Mrs. Lee that. Then we definitely won’t be allowed in.”

They slow down as they finally reach Seokmin’s street. He re-tucks in his school shirt and pats down his hair, turning to brush down Hansol’s untidy uniform too. “You ready?”

It’s Mr. Lee who answers the front door to their hopeful faces. “Ah, boys…”

“We’ve come to check on Seokmin!” he announces, delving into his satchel. “I brought the work he missed out on today, and I have this seaweed snack to give him! I originally bought it for myself, and I would’ve bought him better things if we weren’t trying to beat the school rush just now, but I still want him to have it—”

“I appreciate that,” he says, taking the worksheets from him. “But Seokmin is too sick to have visitors right now. I’ll let him know you stopped by, though.”

He places the seaweed bar on top of the schoolwork. “Are you sure? I can’t even give him a hug?”

“Sorry, kiddo. We’ll call when he’s back on his feet, okay? Thanks for coming by.”

“Hyung!” he shouts through the house as Mr. Lee is closing the door. “We miss you!”

When the door is shut on them, he turns back to Hansol. “Let’s go around the back.”

“What?”

“Come on,” he says, pushing Hansol down so that he’s ducking his head down under the front window. He joins him there, bent low enough so that they can’t be seen, and leads the way around to the side of the house.

“Seungkwan? What are we doing?”

“Be quiet,” he whispers back. “Just follow.”

They meet the glass double doors that look from the kitchen into the small yard, and he peers around slowly. No one is inside. He rushes past, and urges Hansol to do the same.

He rolls his eyes and shuffles past the doors. “Seungkwan—”

“Stay down,” he says, turning to carry on around the house. They duck past the master bedroom window and successfully make it to the back, where the only window belongs to Seokmin’s room.

The curtains are drawn shut and the windows closed, so after listening out for any voices, he raps on one of the panes as loudly as he dares.

“Mrs. Lee will chase us down the street as soon as she finds us,” Hansol remarks, but he straightens up too, looking up at the window with him.

“She would never. She loves me too much.”

A curtain is pulled back from behind the window, and they’re met with Seokmin’s face, eyes round and hair messy. His face breaks out into a wide smile upon seeing them there, and he pushes back the curtain the rest of the way, opening the window enough to talk to them.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, his words curling with delight.

He props his elbows up on the edge of the window, grinning at him. “Here to see you, of course! How are you doing?”

Seokmin beams at them. “I’m okay. Better now you’re here! Did I miss anything at school?”

“Only the usual. Literature is way more boring when you’re not there.”

“Myungho asked after you,” Hansol says. “I told him you probably had another chest infection.”

“I hope it’s not another infection. The last one wasn’t fun. My parents are trying to get me to take it easy, though, in case it is. Will you give him my number? I can message him if he wants to talk about our project more.”

“Are you sure you’ll reply to him? I haven’t heard from you in two days!”

“Ah, sorry. I was kind of tired yesterday, and my phone has been out of battery today. Wait, I’ll plug it in now.” He ducks away, rooting around on his floor for the charger. “I heard Seungkwan shout through the house just now. I miss you guys too. It’s good to see your faces again.”

He comes back into view to show them the plugged-in phone, now powering back up. He’s out of breath even from moving slightly out of bed, and Seungkwan suddenly feels like he’s pushing a boundary.

“I hope you get better quickly,” he says, putting a hand to the window. “We’re not the same without you.”

Seokmin puts his hand to the other side of the glass, over Seungkwan’s. “I’ll be back soon! I miss you guys.”

By the sound of his wheezing breaths, he won’t be back in school any time this week.

“Seokmin?” Mrs. Lee’s voice calls from inside the house, and the two of them duck down below the window just before Seokmin’s bedroom door squeaks open. “You’re not on the phone, are you?”

“No!” Seokmin says quickly. “Just… you know. Talking to myself.”

“Don’t tire yourself out, okay? Your friends came by just now, though I’m sure you heard Seungkwan. Maybe you’ll be able to see them this weekend, if you’re feeling better.”

“I’d like that.”

“Do you need anything?”

“No, I’m okay.”

Mrs. Lee bustles about the room for another minute before he can hear her leaving. He tentatively peeks his head over the window ledge again, only to come face to face with Seokmin, doing the same from the other side. They both laugh and step back, and Hansol brushes his knees off to stand with them.

Only Seokmin’s laugh turns into a hacking cough in seconds, and he bends over out of sight again. It’s followed by the sound of him spitting into the trash.

“We’d better go,” Hansol says from behind him.

Seokmin rights himself, face flushed from the short coughing fit.

“Right, we’ll stop annoying you,” he says, blowing a kiss as Seokmin smiles at them.

“You guys could never annoy me. Thank you for coming to say hi.”

“Anytime.”

“See you soon, Hyung.”

They wave, and creep back around the house, taking a stealthy crawl past the glass doors. Once they round the front of the house and speed-walk back down the street, he’s confident they weren’t seen by either of Seokmin’s parents. Mission success.

“He’s always positive, isn’t he?” Hansol says. “I would be so miserable if I kept getting infections like that. But he acts like it’s nothing bad at all.”

“He takes it way better than I would. I would demand so much from everyone if I were sick all the time.”

“Thank God it’s not you, then.”

Seungkwan punches his arm, and Hansol dodges him with a laugh. “You’re so annoying.”

“At least I’m not a cry-baby.”

“At least I’m not you.” He elbows him before stepping a safe distance away. “Do you want to come back to mine?”

Hansol rolls his eyes, falling back in step with him. “Yeah, alright.”

-

2016.7.23 / Seongnam / Hansol

He’s realising more than ever these days just how different he and Seungkwan really are. It’s always been apparent to some degree—considering how well they get on, they have widely disparaging tastes in just about everything. But it’s never struck him more than now, when they try and compromise without Seokmin here, who was usually their decider. Somewhere between being their hyung, sharing interests with the both of them, and being a terminally ill teenager, he always got the last word.

Now, the best compromise they have is Seungkwan’s force of will meeting his own easy-going attitude. He’ll watch _The Notebook_ with him again because he knows it soothes him, and Hansol doesn’t mind half-watching, half playing on his phone. He suspects Seungkwan likes the cathartic cry it gives him. He also has the advantage of being able to hear the dialogue by ear, while Seungkwan is kept engaged by the subtitles.

They watch the movie in comfortable quiet for a while, until Seungkwan pauses it halfway through to take a phone call; he sits up, kneeing Hansol as he does, with the two of them crammed onto Seungkwan’s single bed. “Hello?”

He stays quiet and focuses on his virtual pet as Seungkwan talks. The app wants him to pay real-life money for a virtual pet jungle gym, and he’s seriously considering it. Seungkwan fiddling with his fingers in front of his face distracts him, and he puts one hand over his to stop him from twitching.

“Yes, that’s fine,” he’s saying. “I’ll be living on campus.”

He puts his phone down to prop himself up on one elbow, watching Seungkwan nod to himself as he listens.

“Yes. Thank you very much. Okay. Goodbye.”

He ends the call and turns to Hansol, who looks right back. “What’s up?”

“Kookmin University just accepted me.”

He sits up properly. “Are you serious?”

“They said that they wanted to contact me personally, to let me know that they understand my grades were under special circumstances, and that they think I’m an admirable student. They want me to study with them, and that they’ll support me as a student. She’s going to help me sort out my accommodation as soon as possible.”

“Congratulations!” he says. “Seriously, that’s so good! That’s the one you wanted to go to, right?”

“Yeah! They’ve got amazing extracurriculars.” He drops his phone onto the bed. “I can’t believe it!”

He shuffles further up the bed and beckons for Seungkwan to come and sit by him again, pressing play on the movie. “We should celebrate. Do you want to do anything?”

“Other than drink myself silly? Not really. Shouldn’t we wait until you get accepted somewhere, too?”

“Oh, I already did. I’ve been accepted by UCLA.”

“What? When?” Seungkwan whips around to look at him. “You didn’t tell me?”

“I forgot, I guess. Sorry.”

“UCLA? Where is that?”

“University of California, Los Angeles. It’s a good school.”

Seungkwan stills beside him. “You’re going to America?”

“Yes, it’s in America.”

“Why?”

“My Mom is moving back to Florida to care for my Grandma, and Sofia is about to enrol at a boarding school in New York. It makes sense to move with them. But I would’ve applied there even if they weren’t moving. It’s a really cool school, and I want to try living abroad for a while.”

Seungkwan is looking at him like he said he’s about to move to the moon. He pauses the movie, leaving them in the heavy silence of the bedroom.

“So you’re leaving?”

“Just for school, yeah.”

Seungkwan frowns at him, creases deep between his eyebrows. “How could you do that? Did you think ahead about this at all? Would you still be going abroad if Hyung were still alive?”

The questions are fired at him rapidly, and he’s thrown by the anger in his voice. “What?”

“Would you go all the way to America if Seokmin were still in and out of hospital, if he needed you here?”

“I don’t know. Probably not. Does it matter? That’s not the situation, is it?”

“I can’t believe you.” Seungkwan’s voice rises as he stands from the bed, slamming his phone onto the bedside table. “You’re leaving the country? Now, of all times?”

“I’m going to school, Seungkwan, you always knew I was going to apply abroad—”

“I didn’t think you’d actually go through with it! We talked about this, about how Seokmin hyung was stuck in Seongnam, and how Seoul is only a train ride away—”

“No, you talked at me, and gave me a lecture on responsibility. Not that it matters now, because Seokmin isn’t here. You’re not mad because I’m making a bad decision, you’re mad because I won’t fit into your plans.”

Seungkwan reels back, staring at him. Hansol hates how Seungkwan can make him feel small with just a look, like he deserves every ounce of his contempt over this; like his decisions are outrageous, even though he’s always had plans to study in America, and Seokmin was more supportive of them than anyone.

“Why are you acting like this? Why do you go around acting like everything you do has no consequence?”

“What?” he’s lost. Seungkwan is working himself into a fit over nothing, and resolutely ignoring his protests about it. “What exactly is it that I’ve done, Seungkwan?”

“You—you’re being selfish! And you’re an idiot! You’re going to America when it’s the worst possible idea right now—it’s stupid, and irresponsible, and you don’t even care!”

“It’s only for school!” He can’t help but laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. He’s not even sure why this has to be an argument. “It’s not forever!”

“I don’t want to hear it!” Seungkwan turns and throws open his bedroom door. “I don’t want to see you!”

He gapes at him. In all the disagreements and petty arguments they’ve had over the years, he can count on one hand the amount of times they’ve actually had a full-blown fight like this. In all those times, Seungkwan has never kicked him out.

“I’m serious! Get out!”

Anger kicks up in his chest, in a way he hasn’t felt in a long time. He can tell Seungkwan is angry too, over some imagined wrong Hansol has done, and there’ll be no reasoning with him right now. Not that he wants to. He’s acting like a child, throwing a tantrum because Hansol won’t do exactly what he wants him to.

“Fine.”

He grabs his phone and stands from the bed, striding past Seungkwan through the open doorway. As soon as he turns into the hallway, the door slams shut behind him, followed by the sound of something inside dropping to the floor.

“Hansol?” Ma stands up from the sofa as he passes her in the main room. “Did something happen?”

He bows politely at the front door, grabbing his shoes from outside. “Thank you for having me over, but I think we both need some space from each other right now.”

She watches him go without another word, and as he’s shutting the front door behind him, he sees her turn and head to Seungkwan’s room.

He takes the stairs of the apartment building rather than the elevator. By the time he’s at the ground floor, the trip hasn’t burnt off any of his anger. He breaks into a run as he hits the cool night of Seongnam, and doesn’t stop until he’s back home.

-

2012.9.9 / Seongnam / Hansol

Seokmin and Seungkwan have signed up for the school play this year. It’s something they’ve been talking about for a long time, but the timing had never been right for them. Now that Seokmin has had a stretch of good health and Seungkwan’s grades are finally up high enough, their parents have been convinced to allow them to spend some time on auditioning.

He’s happy for them, really. It’s what they’ve wanted for years. What he didn’t anticipate was how much louder it would make the two of them. All of the time.

“Wait, can we try the duet again?” Seungkwan says, fussing through the script papers they’re highlighting and marking. “I really want to get Romeo. I know they’ll probably give it to stupid Lee Chan, because he’s a better dancer, but I’m definitely a better singer, and maybe if I can’t get Romeo I’ll at least get Mercutio—”

“Do you think I can try for Juliet? I heard that they’re short on girls who can sing, this year,” Seokmin says, underlining Juliet’s name on the sheet in pink.

Hansol snorts, looking up from his phone. “Only if you want to kiss Lee Chan.”

“Chan doesn’t have the role yet!” Seungkwan says, feverishly highlighting a whole paragraph of dialogue. “Don’t discount me so fast!”

“Would you rather kiss Seokmin, then?”

“No! That’s not what I said!”

“Is Friar Laurence a big role?” Seokmin asks.

“It’s decent, but I don’t know if they gave him any songs. Check the sheet at the back. Will you practise the duet with me now?”

“Okay. Where are the lyrics?”

He times his trip to the kitchen for the moment they start the duet. It’s not that he doesn’t like their voices—anyone can tell that they’re good singers—but it’s different when you have Seungkwan belting into one ear, Seokmin in the other. No human can take the volume for too long.

It’s also hard not to feel a little left out whenever they start doing things like this. He loves music, but he can’t sing at all, and only ever joins in to make them laugh. It’s better he goes to make himself some toast, listening in from the kitchen, leaving them to their own devices.

He searches around in the cupboards for some good spread. The Lees always have their cupboards stocked full of food, the expensive brands and everything, and victory approaches him when he spots the chocolate spread on the bottom shelf. Somewhere behind him, Seungkwan is singing about his aching heart.

Their voices cut out just in time for his toast to pop up. He takes the slices from the toaster and unscrews the jar, pulling open the drawers in search for a knife.

“Hansol?” Seungkwan calls from the main room.

“Mm?” he calls back, sticking the knife into the jar.

“Hansol!” he calls again, significantly more alarmed. “Get in here!”

He stops, leaves the toast to jog back into the main room. “What’s wrong?”

In front of him, Seungkwan is guiding Seokmin to the sofa, sitting him down as Seokmin clutches at his chest and gasps for air.

“C—can’t breathe,” he manages, scrunching his eyes shut.

Seungkwan holds his shoulders, turning to see Hansol. “Call an ambulance!”

He scrambles in his pockets for his phone, pulling it out and staring. Call the ambulance, Hansol. He dials, puts the phone to his ear. Seungkwan is encouraging Seokmin to match his breathing, but he’s panicking too badly to even try. That, or he really can’t breathe at all.

The lady on the phone is kind but firm, guiding him as he stammers his way through an explanation. The ambulance seems to take both a minute and a year, and Seokmin is red-eyed and breathless when the paramedics arrive, but at least he’s still alive. He supposes he should be grateful for that.

“Are either of you family?” a paramedic asks them, as Seokmin is being loaded onto the stretcher.

“We’re his friends,” Seungkwan supplies, shaken, tear tracks down his cheeks. “Can we come with him?”

“I’m afraid not,” she answers. “Do you live here?”

“No, it’s his house.”

“Then you’re going to have to go home for now, okay? Don’t worry, we’ll take good care of him.”

And then they take Seokmin away. They’re left alone in the empty Lee household, his toast long gone cold.

-

2016.8.4 / Seongnam / Seungkwan

He watches the TV absently, head in Sojeong’s lap, her hands running through his hair. He knows she’d asked to watch it with him because it’s one of his favourites, so he doesn’t have the heart to tell her that it doesn’t feel the same anymore.

Ma comes through the front door with a huff. “Seungkwan, tell your Ma she’s great.”

“You’re the best mother I’ve ever had,” he says, pulling himself up to squint over at her. She’s lugging a large carboard box into the house, and from where he’s sat, he can tell it has smaller boxes packed inside. “Why are you so happy about empty boxes?”

“Would you rather carry everything to Seoul by hand?”

He grimaces as she sets them by his bedroom door. Packing. University preparations have come to a standstill since his fight with Hansol, thoughts too strung up on more pressing matters. He’s been considering the best way to make things up with him. They need to sort it out before school starts, regardless of where either of them decide to go, and if Hansol had called or messaged him it would be easy to say sorry. Then Hansol would say sorry, and admit that he’s been an idiot about the whole thing. They’ll come to some sort of compromise, and it’ll all be fine again. Well. As fine as things can get, these days.

Only it’s been nearly two weeks, now, and he still hasn’t heard from him. He hadn’t wanted to be the first one to break, waiting for Hansol to come to his senses about how stupid it is to move to America when he’s needed here. But he hasn’t heard anything at all from him since their fight. It hurts, knowing that Hansol hasn’t even tried to see him after this long.

Seungkwan knows he’s upset. He’s still angry too. But Ma is here with his moving boxes, and he’s starting to realise that he can’t win this one, not with the timescale they’re on. Hansol will have accepted his place at UCLA by now, will be packing to move out any day. Maybe this decision is something far bigger than him, something Seungkwan could never understand. Not that he’s ever fully understood Hansol anyway.

Maybe, just this once, he should try and accept that.

Sojeong looks up at him when he stands from the sofa. “Where are you going?”

“I’m going to talk to Hansol.”

“Thank Christ,” Jinseol says from her chair. “Finally. I don’t know how much longer I could handle your sulking.”

He makes a face at her as he wrestles on his shoes. “Not all that different to your mood on a daily basis, is it?”

“Good luck, Kwan!” Sojeong calls, and he waves to her as he leaves the apartment.

It’s been a little while since he’s properly been outside. The fresh air is nice, and the evening sunset glows in sky. Things that make him feel calm have become a rarity, so he stops for a minute just to watch the yellows and pinks soothe the sky.

The walk to the Chwe household is sun-kissed and quiet. By the time he makes it to Hansol’s street, lights are starting to turn on inside houses, leaving windows glowing. He stops outside the house, tugs at his shirt and considers texting Hansol that he’s outside. Then he shakes himself, because he’s never been a coward, and knocks on the front door clear and loud.

Mr. Chwe answers quickly, house dark behind him and clothes looking ruffled, like he’d just been woken from a nap. He smiles when he sees Seungkwan, though, and it lights up his face better than the last of the sunlight can.

“Seungkwan! It’s good to see you! How have you been?”

He hates that question. He’s obviously a mess. “I’ve been okay. Getting by, you know.”

“That’s good, very good to hear. To what do I owe the pleasure today?”

“Is Hansol in?”

His smile falters, and Seungkwan feels his heart sink. “Ah, you know… Hansol said that you two were fighting. I didn’t know it was still going on.”

“I’ve come to try and make it up to him,” he says, alarm building in his chest. “Has something happened?”

“Seungkwan,” he says, leaning against the doorway. “I’m sorry, but he left for America two days ago. He starts school on Monday.”

The implications set in all at once, sending a wave of dull panic through him. “He’s gone?”

“He’s gone. Took the flight out with Sofia and his Mom.”

He steps back from the house, reeling. “He didn’t tell me.”

“I’m sorry, son. If you try and call him, you’ll probably catch him. I don’t think he’s adjusted to the time difference yet.”

He shakes his head and turns away, wiping at his eyes with his sleeve. “I don’t think he wants to talk to me.”

“Seungkwan…” Mr. Chwe sighs. “You mean a lot to him. I know you two are having a very difficult time right now, but you can still support each other from different countries. Give him a call when you can.”

He feels a surge of irrational anger at Hansol, at Mr. Chwe, at the expectations hanging over their heads and at the whole world, for pulling him apart from both of his best friends in the space of two months. It’s quickly followed by a wave of crushing disappointment. Hansol is in another country, in an opposite time zone, thousands of miles away from him, and hadn’t even let him know he was leaving. He’s made it very clear he doesn’t want to hear from Seungkwan.

“Thank you. I hope you have a good night.”

“Goodnight, Seungkwan.”

Mr. Chwe watches him from the doorway as he retreats down the street, headed away from the house. Instead of going left at the end of the road, the direction of home, he turns right, walking the short distance to the playpark. With the last of the sun gone below the city, the kids have dispersed, and the apparatus is starting to form strange shadows along the ground. He sits on a swing, looks out over the residential view below him, and bursts into tears.

No one is around to hear, and there’s no Hansol or Seokmin sat nearby to comfort him. So he cries for as long as he likes, out of earshot of his sisters and Ma, rocking himself gently on the swing. The cool air kisses his wet cheeks, and he sits there until the night gets cold.

When he gets home, Sojeong is the only one still awake, waiting for him on the sofa. He shuts the door behind him and looks at her.

“Hansol’s gone,” he says. “And he didn’t say goodbye.”

-

2012.9.13 / Seongnam / Seungkwan

Ma won’t stop repeating to him that Seokmin is doing just fine, no matter how much he badgers her for some real information. It’s Mr. Chwe who tells him that Seokmin’s left lung had collapsed, that he’s mending well now, and that the doctors are predicting he’ll be able to go home in a few days. He knows more than anything that he’s just antsy, that he needs to see Seokmin to fully believe he’s okay, and to hear the full truth about what had happened that night.

He can’t stop replaying the moment in his head. Seokmin’s face full of pain, hand on his chest, breathing horribly stalled. The agonising wait for the ambulance, the people who had swarmed into the house. He hasn’t been sleeping properly the past few days, anxious to see him again.

So when Seokmin’s parents finally emerge from the children’s ward and give Seungkwan and Hansol permission to go in, he can barely stop himself from running straight across the room to Seokmin’s bed. They’d been warned not to be too loud, not to walk too fast or upset any of the other children in the room, and not to let Seokmin talk too much if they could help it.

Seeing him there, sitting up in the hospital bed—he feels like he can breathe again, like maybe they weren’t lying about Seokmin healing. He might just be okay, because here he is, awake and smiling and definitely alive, lungs (almost) fully functioning.

“Hyung!” he wails, clutching at the bar along the side of his bed rather than grabbing him. He has an intimidatingly big mask over his mouth and a couple of wires trailing under his hospital gown, his heartbeat loud and steady on the monitor. Despite it all, Seokmin is smiling at him, reaching out for Seungkwan’s hand.

“You came!” he says, voice small and muffled under the mask, but clearly delighted. “I wasn’t sure if Mom would let you!”

“Seungkwan annoyed everyone until they let us in,” Hansol says, taking his seat on the other side of Seokmin’s bed.

“Don’t act like you didn’t too,” he says. “Hyung, they told us you had a collapsed lung. Is that true?”

He squeezes his hand. “Yeah. It’s mending well, though, so I’ll be back out of the hospital soon!”

“Why did it even happen?” Hansol says. “I looked it up, and collapsed lungs usually happen after things like rib fractures. You were just singing. It was so sudden.”

Seokmin looks down at the bedsheets. “It wasn’t because of the singing, really. The doctors have been looking at my lungs a lot, trying to figure out why I get so many infections and everything—they think that the collapse happened because they’re too weak on their own, and they’ve been under too much pressure.”

“But why?” he presses. “Do they know what’s wrong?”

“They’ve given me a new diagnosis, actually. I have something called cystic fibrosis.”

“What’s that?” Seungkwan asks.

“It’s a chronic illness that affects the lungs. It what makes it harder for me to breathe, and gives me chest pains, and means I get chest infections so easily.”

“Wait, this is good, right?” Hansol says. “If you have a diagnosis, doesn’t that mean they can give you the right treatment for it?”

“Mm,” Seokmin says, twisting the sheets in his hands. “It’s really rare in Korea, so they’re bringing in a specialist from overseas. I’m going to start with treatment as soon as possible.”

A smile breaks out on his face. “Hyung, that’s so good! You’re going to get better!”

Seokmin doesn’t look up from the sheets, and his voice starts to falter. “In the west, the life expectancy for someone with cystic fibrosis is about 40 years old. But because I wasn’t diagnosed for ages, and I haven’t had any treatment for it… they said it’s a miracle that I’m even alive. And that, with treatment… I’ll probably live for a few more years at best.”

His breath catches in his throat. Seokmin rubs at his eyes with the back of his hand, and Seungkwan feels dizzy. “I haven’t said that out loud yet. It’s really scary. I don’t know what to do.”

He might fall over. For the first time in his life, he’s truly speechless.

Seokmin is going to die?

He’s always been a pretty sick kid, but with no discernible diagnosis, it had been assumed to be a weak immune system coupled with serious asthma. But that had never explained the chest pains, the digestion problems, the way Seokmin has always been smaller and skinnier than kids his age. He’d never even considered it could be something like this, though. Something terminal.

He gently pulls Seokmin’s head into his shoulder so that he doesn’t have to see his hyung cry, and so that he won’t see Seungkwan’s tears, either. Seokmin grips his shirt, and Seungkwan buries his face into his hair, pretends like he’s not shaking. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Hansol take Seokmin’s other hand.

“Hyung… I’m so sorry. It’s awful. You don’t deserve something like this.”

“I know,” Seokmin says, voice thin. “It’s hard to process. I thought being diagnosed would help, too, but this…”

“Hyung, hey. You know what? If you think bad things, it’ll only make everything worse. I know it’s easier said than done, but—don’t think about it. Get your treatment, heal up, come back home. Once you’re back, we can hang out loads, and do fun things together. You should write a list of things you want to do, and we’ll tick everything off. A few years is loads of time! We can fit a whole lifetime in if we try hard enough.”

Seungkwan stares, and Seokmin pulls his head back. “You think?”

“Yeah!” he says, and he sounds more certain than Seungkwan has ever heard in his life. “You’ve now got good reason to do anything you like, and no one can tell you no. And we can do it together, right? You’re not getting rid of us any time soon.”

“Yeah,” Seungkwan says, finally finding his voice again. “We’ll stick together. We’ll be together for as long as we can.”

Seokmin blinks at them, eyes wet. “Promise?”

“Of course!” Hansol says. “You can count on us.”

“We’ll beat your cystic thingy together!” he agrees.

“I love you guys,” Seokmin says. His voice still shaking, but he’s smiling again, and that’s all that matters. “We’ll do loads of fun things, yeah?”

“I can’t wait,” he says, finally taking his seat in the hospital chair, lightheaded and breathless. “I love you guys the most, you know.”

“We’ve got each other,” Hansol says, resolute. “So we’ll be okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the next chapter will be up in a few days! i totally posted this draft on accident so idk exactly when but it won't be long


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the playlist for chapter 2 is [here](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL0ACAj6h3K85koYUW8_qHPi_-EW-eBDp6)

2016.8.29 / Los Angeles / Hansol

When he misses his first week of classes, he blames it on the jetlag. He’d slept on and off for ten hours on the plane ride over, so by the time they’d landed he was disoriented and sleepy; of course his sleeping pattern would be off for a while. Coming alive at night like some sort of flat ghost is only a transitional period. He’ll catch up on whatever he missed once his sleep pattern smooths out.

When he misses his second week of classes, he realises he should probably try and keep up with the online material before trying to go in for week three. But his sleeping schedule still isn’t great, actually, so maybe he can just do the semester online for a little while, and catch up on his attendance after the break. Yeah.

Because of his cursed sleep schedule, he meets his flatmates at odd times. There’s Kevin, who he first meets when he’s throwing up in the bathroom at 3am. Halla, who he passes in the hallway at 6am, him headed to bed and her headed out for a morning run. Sakura, who wakes him up in the middle of the day by knocking on his door to offer him cookies. And then there’s Josh, who he’d bumped into on moving in day; he’d been so tired that they hadn’t exchanged much conversation then, but he knows that he’s also Korean from the distant phone calls he sometime hears. Sakura has a girlfriend, who she talks loudly with in the kitchen sometimes, but he can usually sleep through that. Kevin also has a girlfriend, and his bed must be against the same wall as Hansol’s, because they’re much louder, and usually during hours when Hansol is awake. He buys himself some noise-cancelling earphones, and gets by.

Mom leaves him with a list of foods he can make, but most days he finds he either doesn’t have the energy to try, or doesn’t want to be too noisy making chicken in the shared kitchen at 4am. It’s not like his diet of ramen and pasta was totally unexpected, and he doesn’t mind it.

Kevin invites him to a football game, one time, and Sakura invites him to her society events more than once. Josh sends him a message saying he can introduce him to other Koreans on campus if he’s looking for Korean friends. It’s all very nice, but with the way he’s keeping a firmly nocturnal schedule, it’s hard to make time for any real plans. He tells them he’ll join them as soon as he has himself sorted.

By his fourth week at school, he has teachers emailing him about his absences, and his flatmates have stopped inviting him out. At night, he listens to his lectures and tries to grasp the basic concepts of economics, or he goes out to buy more ramen on his own, or he makes shitty beats on his laptop. Music is the only thing that makes him feel alive, these days.

When they pass each other in the hallway, Josh throws him these looks, like he knows something Hansol doesn’t. Maybe it’s just pity. It always makes him turn into his bedroom without looking back.

-

2016.9.17 / Seoul / Seungkwan

“Wow, Seungcheol is really good,” he remarks, sipping on his iced americano and leaning back against the stands.

“He’s like that with all sports, unfortunately. I’m pretty good too, you know,” Jeonghan says, draped across his seat as if he hadn’t been on the court himself five minutes ago.

“I know you are. You don’t have to remind me. I’m just saying, he’s good too, isn’t he?”

“Yeah. He is. Bet I could take him, though.”

“If his team wins this match, you can prove it.”

“And I will.”

“I can’t wait to see it.”

They watch the match for a few minutes more, until the ball accidentally comes flying their way mid-game. Seungkwan stands to catch it without missing a beat, and throws it back into the court. He’s still bitter that his team had lost against Jeonghan’s, though admittedly everyone in the society is a strong player. He’ll get him next time.

“Are you thinking of applying for the team next year?” Jeonghan asks. “I’ll have graduated by then, so they’re going to be in dire need of good players.”

“Maybe. I’m already doing a million extracurriculars this year, and I heard second year has way heavier workload. We’ll see.”

“It does, but third year is the worst. Better to do all the fun stuff while you can. What else are you doing this year?”

“Well, my flatmate has roped me into doing a podcast with him. We’re pretty funny, though I don’t know who exactly listens to us chatting shit for two hours every week. I’ve also joined the choir, the calligraphy club, and the theatre group, and I have student support meetings every week, and I think I’m going to run for student ambassador for my course once nominations open.”

“Jesus, you are busy.”

“I’m trying to make the most of being away from home. Aren’t these supposed to be the best years of your life?”

“Depends on who you ask.” He picks up Seungkwan’s coffee and takes a sip, wrinkling his nose at the taste.

They watch the game for a little while longer. Seungcheol’s team loses, much to Jeonghan’s delight, and as they pass each other Jeonghan says something into his ear. Seungcheol looks at Seungkwan and nods, then comes to sit close by, sweaty and only slightly pouting. The game on the court begins as he wipes himself down. Eventually, he shuffles closer to Seungkwan, and says,

“Hi. I’m Seungcheol, the society president. Are you Seungkwan?”

“Yeah, that’s me. Nice to meet you.”

They shake hands, Seungcheol’s grip firm. “Jeonghan told me to ask you about the commentator slot.”

“The what?”

Seungcheol looks back out to the court, shaking his head. “Typical Jeonghan, leaving all the work to me. We’ve got a slot open right now for a commentator—we don’t have any official sports commentators for games on campus, because sport isn’t a course offered here. We’re always looking for someone to make the games interesting.”

“Wow. And you want me to…?”

“Jeonghan has good instincts about these things. We haven’t found anyone fitting enough so far, but if he’s recommended you...”

“I’d love to try! I love volleyball a lot, but I only know terminology from watching games. I’ve never played professionally.”

“You seem like a good kid. Good speaker?”

“I’ve been told so.”

“Then why don’t we trial run it? We’ve got our first game in a few weeks, against Hanyang university. You can commentate on our practise next week, and we’ll see how it goes from there.”

“Why not? It sounds like fun!” As first years don’t usually make it onto the team, this is probably the closest he can get to playing in a proper game. Hansol had always told him that he was better at spectating than he was at playing.

When Jeonghan’s team loses the match, Seungkwan doesn’t laud it over him too much, as he did just give him a potential society position. He wonders if that was pre-planned, a part of the reason he’d prompted Seungcheol about it in the first place.

“You played well, Hyung,” Mingyu says afterwards, though Seungkwan can tell from his canine grin that he’s delighted to be the winner. “Maybe don’t get so confident before the game next time.”

“You might want to take a look at yourself before you give others that advice,” Jeonghan says.

“Winners are allowed to be a little cocky,” he pitches in, mostly for the way Mingyu’s face lights up at him. He’d been extremely tall and handsome and distracting to play against, and the sweat running down his face right now should be gross, but Mingyu is one of those people who would look good covered in trash.

“Right!” Mingyu says. “I get this for now, don’t you think?”

“I’ll let you have it for about three minutes before you have to be quiet.”

“Ha! Jeonghan-hyung, don’t get so confident next time you go up against me!”

“You’re such a bad winner,” Seungcheol laughs.

“Does anyone want to stay for another game? Don’t we have the hall for another twenty minutes?” The way Mingyu looks at him when he asks that is tempting, but he’s painfully aware of the time.

“I’m sorry, I said I’d go to a yoga class with my flatmate, and it starts in about three minutes,” he says. He really is sorry. One on one volleyball with Mr. Handsome Kim Mingyu doesn’t sound half bad.

“Maybe next time?” Mingyu says, undeterred.

He waves over his shoulder as he heads for the hall door. “Next time, definitely.”

-

2012.10.5 / Seoul / Hansol

The way Seokmin is practically vibrating with excitement just to get on the train is contagious, and puts them all in good spirits as they depart for Seoul. It’s partially because Seokmin has barely been out of the house in weeks, is only just now beginning to go back to school. To see the October sky, and to be out on a trip together like this, is something they he hasn’t had in a while. Seokmin’s heart has always been on his sleeve, and his moods easily infectious; as a result they tend to get carried away, start laughing at the smallest, silliest things. He feels kind of bad for the other passengers, and attempts to keep it down, but Seungkwan and Seokmin barely know the definition of quiet. By the time Seungkwan laughs so hard he snorts soda out of his nose, he decides to take control of the situation before they get kicked off the train.

“So, what is this musical actually about?”

Seokmin dabs Seungkwan down with a napkin. “What, you don’t know?”

“No idea. You guys told me you were buying tickets for something you wanted to see, but you didn’t tell me what.”

“It’s called Xcalibur,” Seungkwan informs him. “It’s about King Arthur.”

“Oh, seriously? That sounds cool.”

Seokmin laughs. “I should hope so, you’re headed for a three-hour show!”

“Three hours?”

“Musicals are kind of long,” Seungkwan says. “But you’ll get into it.”

They make it to Seoul with only a passing glare from the conductor, and quickly agree to grab fast food for lunch. As part of his new treatment, Seokmin has been on a new diet heavy in proteins, fats, fruit, and vegetables. But as today is one of his monthly ‘freedom days’, free from the eyes of his medical team and parents, he’s made the executive decision that he wants fast food today.

“No, it’s not just a want. It’s a need! I need fast food!” he declares. “There’s only so much fruit and veg I can take!”

After that, they go shopping in Seoul to kill a few hours before the show. They don’t have much allowance left after buying the tickets, but Seokmin still buys them ice cream and matching Xcalibur pin badges from a merch stand.

Musicals aren’t particularly his thing, but even he can admit there’s something exciting about waiting for the curtain to pull back, sitting in a room full of people who are all waiting for the same thing. Seokmin and Seungkwan chatter excitedly and swap snacks, and he chews on some of his own and listens to them, happy to let them enthuse until the red curtain sweeps away to begin the performance.

What he doesn’t expect is to enjoy it as much as he does. Anyone can enjoy a good show, but he really gets into it—the songs are beautiful, and the actors fully command his attention. The story is mostly new to him, though he knows a little about the tales of King Arthur; the sets and costumes are so vibrant he can’t help but be caught up in the story playing out on stage. It’s like being transported to another world.

His favourite part is being able to sneak looks at the seats next to him every so often, to see his best friends watching the show raptly. Seungkwan cries when Genevieve has to leave, and Seokmin’s eyes shine watching Arthur belt his power ballad. He can mouth along to most of the songs, too. He must know the soundtrack by heart, already; it makes Hansol wonder how long he’s been looking forward to this.

When they come out of the theatre, it’s dark, and they huddle close together as they walk to the station. He doesn’t say much, but he doesn’t need to. The other two happily talk a mile a minute about every detail, about their favourite singers and songs, the climax of the story and the swordfight at the end. By the time they’re stood on the gusty platform, waiting for their train to arrive, Seokmin shivers and turns to him.

“Did you like it?” he asks. “Even though it was long?”

“I loved it. It was really good! Arthur reminded me of you.”

“Really? How? He was way braver than I could ever be!” he laughs, but Hansol can tell he’s pleased.

“You’re the bravest person I know,” he tells him. He unpins the tiny sword pin badge from his jacket, and taps the end of the blade to each of Seokmin’s shoulders. “Rise, King Arthur, and bequeath me your leftover snacks!”

-

2016.10.6 / Seoul / Seungkwan

Getting a name for yourself is a double-edged sword. It’s flattering that his friends know him as the funny guy from Soonyoung’s podcast, who can commentate on even the most boring volleyball game with flair. It’s a big compliment to be considered the comedian of the group, though it’s kind of strange to find himself in this new friendship group at all. He’s still adjusting to it, and it can be pressuring sometimes to keep up the persona, to read people well and make them laugh.

He tries to keep a healthy balance between professionalism and humour when commentating, to be interesting as well as taking the game seriously. It’s one thing to commentate at society games every week, speaking into a hall of people he knows; it’s another thing to do it at a real game, one between universities, one that will have real spectators and a real winner. One where he’s relying on his team, and his team are relying on him. Hanyang doesn’t bring a commentator, so it’s just him in front of this clunky microphone set, echoing through the sports hall.

“And that’s an offside block from Hanyang!” he says, as the small Hanyang crowd cheer. “Play resumes with a strong overhand serve…. both teams show good resolve. Nice spike there from Kookmin! I’m not biased, it really was nice. Score from Kookmin! Nice one! With that, Kookmin takes the set. We’re going to take ten minutes before the next set, everyone, unless someone wants to slide me a few thousand won, and then we can make it five.”

He sees a player on the Hanyang team smile despite their loss, and that’s enough to make him feel like he’s doing a good job. He turns off the mic for now, taking the halftime to sit back and chug half of his bottle of water. Mingyu smiles at him from across the court, and he tries to smile back. It’s unfortunate that he spits out half his mouthful of water in the process.

Someone laughs from beside him. He turns to say some scathing words, but then recognises him as one of Jeonghan’s friends—Jihoon, short guy, not much of a player but seems to know the others well enough. He’d come out to support them in the match, but Seungkwan hadn’t really spoken to him before.

Jihoon sits down next to him, in the space that’d been left vacant thanks to the immediate volume of his mic set. “Sorry. I just came to say that you’re pretty good at this thing. You make the matches way more fun than they were last year.”

He swallows the last of his water. “Thanks! I’ve never done it before, but they asked me to try, and it’s been pretty fun.”

“You’re Seungkwan, right?”

“That’s me.”

“I’m friends with Soonyoung.” Jihoon explains. “Sometimes he makes me listen to his podcast. I thought I recognised your voice.”

“Ah. I’m sorry for your lost time. Sometimes we get drunk before we start recording, then I don’t remember any of what we said the next day.”

“Oh, I can tell,” Jihoon grins.

“I wasn’t aware anyone really listened to it. Or is it only the friends he forces to tune in?”

“Mostly that, though he does have a small following on twitter who listen religiously.”

“Damn it,” he mutters, and Jihoon laughs.

“Don’t regret it. You’re good. You make him way funnier.”

“Don’t tell him that. He thinks he’s comedy gold when he’s drunk.”

“Believe me, I’m well aware.”

He wonders how he hasn’t met Jihoon yet, with the way he seems to be connected with so many of his own friends. He likes him. They could get on well.

“I came here to ask you something, actually,” Jihoon says, less confident now.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. The thing is, I’m trying to get this radio program set up for the university. I’m thinking it’ll be a program to talk about the events coming up on campus and any other news around school, and news about Korea in general. Playing music, taking requests, having guests on, that sort of thing. I’m a music student, and it’s part of my final project for this year. I have the sound production setup ready, and I’ve been given equipment by the university for it.”

“Wow, that sounds really cool!”

“The thing is, I’m not so confident with the talking part of it. I’ve been thinking about asking one of my friends to come and host with me, but it’s hard to pick someone who fits.” He plays with a thread in his jacket, and finally looks Seungkwan in the face. “Jeonghan said you were pretty booked up—I know you must be busy with the podcast and the commentating, and your studies too. But if you’re interested, I’d like to have you on the show.”

“My priority for this year is to try out everything I can, and your project sounds so cool! How could I say no? Will it be broadcasted around campus?”

Jihoon smiles to himself. “Kookmin are really enthusiastic about it, and they said it’ll be broadcast online and through the main buildings. Right now, I just have Friday morning and Saturday evening slots, but if it’s successful they might keep it on or even expand it after I graduate.”

“Woah.” He’d kill to have a project like that, something that could really make a change. “I’d love to host with you, Hyung. Can I call you Hyung? I’m kind of honoured you picked me, though you don’t know me very well.”

“If we’re going to be co-hosts, you’d better call me Hyung.” His smile reveals a neat row of teeth, and Seungkwan finds himself smiling back. Down on the court, the referee is indicating for him to recommence the game.

“Alright then, Hyung,” he says, turning on his equipment again. “I can’t wait to start working with you.”

Well after Hanyang win the game, after he and Soonyoung stay up laughing until the early hours of the morning, after he’s brushed his teeth and changed clothes and drawn up his bedsheets, he picks up his phone and opens KakaoTalk. Scrolls for a bit, until he finds the name he wants.

> hi hyung

> today was pretty great! not every day can be good, but today was definitely fun. hanyang won the game, but it was a close match, and i didn’t make any mistakes in commentating! even hanyang liked me a little bit, and some of the other spectators complimented me afterwards, so maybe i am kind of good at this. watching all those matches together is finally paying off…

> this guy came up to me in the middle of the game and offered me a place on the university radio, which was totally surprising and amazing. i never knew i had skills in commentary or hosting or anything, but all these opportunities keep finding me. i’m so grateful for it. you know i like to keep busy.

> i think you’d really like soonyoung and jihoon and all my new friends. i wish you could meet them. will you listen out for my radio show with Jihoon when it starts? it’ll be on the university website, so anyone can tune in. i don’t know how many people our age still listen to the radio, but it’ll be fun to do, anyway.

> i had this nightmare last night, but i can’t remember anything from it now. it’s making me reluctant to go to sleep again, though.

> everything else is the same. i still miss you and hansol. i think about you guys every day. i know you’d tell me to stop being stubborn and call him already, but it’s not that easy, you know? will you tell him that i’m sorry instead? you know he was always more fond of you, and you were always the kindest of us three.

> i’ll come and visit you when i’m back in seongnam for the new year, so don’t miss me too much, okay?

> i’m going to try and sleep now. i love you.

-

2016.12.2 / Los Angeles / Hansol

A clamour of voices in the apartment hallway is what wakes him up, somewhere in the middle of the evening. He lies there, half asleep, listening for who it might be. It sounds like… Kevin? With other voices he doesn’t recognise. They move into the kitchen, then stay there, talking loudly. He lays and listens for a bit. When he gets tired of that, he decides it’s time to get breakfast, and scout out what’s going on.

Kevin hoots at him when he comes in. “Vernon! Hey! Good to see you, bro!”

“Hi,” he says, grabbing the bread from his cupboard. Someone’s unplugged his toaster.

“We’re having drinks here before we go out later. Hope that’s cool, dude.”

He’d figured as much. There are crates of beer stacked up on the table, and the other guys in the room already have one in hand. “That’s cool.”

“There are others coming too. Not too many, but it looks like you weren’t going to sleep anyway, right?” He jostles him and laughs. “Join us if you like! Josh said he would.”

He considers the other boys, dressed for a night out and laughing with each other. They seem friendly enough. What could be the harm?

His toast pops up. “Alright. Let me get some clothes on and come back.”

By the time he’s showered (he takes a long one, because it’s been a while) and pulled on some clean-ish clothes, the number of bodies in the kitchen have tripled with more still arriving after him, cramming into the space and making the room hot. The windows have been thrown wide open, and he already knows that they won’t make it to the end of the night without noise complaints.

“Vernon!” Josh says, coming up beside him out of nowhere and clapping him on the shoulder. “Good to see you, bro! Hey, these are some of my friends—Wonwoo, and Junhui. I told you I know other Asian transfers.”

“Nice to meet you,” he says, going to shake their hands before awkwardly accepting the fist bump Junhui offers.

“Hi,” Junhui says, awkward, like he hadn’t been planning on talking to new people today. “You’re from abroad?”

“Korea actually. Near the Seoul area?”

“Seriously?” Wonwoo says. “I lived in Changwon as a kid! We moved to New Jersey when I was young, though, so I don’t remember much of it.”

“I was born in New York, but I don’t remember much of that, either. Spent nearly my whole life in Korea. I’m mixed, which is why I don’t look Korean so much.”

“Cool,” Wonwoo says, and then there’s a lull in conversation where they just nod at each other, not sure what else to say. Another boy comes up to Junhui and starts talking to him in Chinese, pulling him away from the three of them.

“I wonder if Johnny brought his usual snacks,” Josh says, and promptly heads off to speak to a boy across the room.

He and Wonwoo are left standing by each other for a terrible, silent minute.

“So what are you studying?” he manages finally.

“Business, actually,” Wonwoo says. “Boring, I know…”

“Oh, I take business too!”

“You do? I’ve never seen you around.”

“That’s because I haven’t attended any of my classes. Got behind on day one.”

“Ah,” Wonwoo says.

He scratches the back of his head, and they fall silent again.

They split off after that, Hansol taking a beer and a seat on the sofa as soon as a space presents itself. It’s probably not a great idea to drink without having eaten anything but toast today, but he doesn’t really want to try making himself some food in this crowded kitchen. Instead, he sips on his can and keeps himself to himself, watching the rest of the room move around him. He mostly watches Josh, who seems to know everyone else here—he gets stopped whenever he moves an inch, by people who speak to him like old friends.

A girl sits down next to him and tries to strike up a casual conversation, but he stammers through his words so badly that she leaves after a few minutes of stilted back and forth about their studies. A tub of brownies is being passed around, and he picks a big one out, happy to have something to occupy him other than a conversation. Another beer ends up in his hand, and he listens to the guys beside him talk about the best places to eat in the city. He would pitch in, except he hasn’t been anywhere fun since the day he arrived, so he tries to remember the names they’re saying instead. Maybe he should try going out to experience L.A. soon. His body is going lax, his attention span short. He’s starting to realise there was something in the brownies.

He watches the ceiling for a while. The ridges in the plaster work look funky. Josh pats his cheek and asks if he’s okay, which makes him laugh. Josh doesn’t realise how big that question is. Kevin asks, are you coming out with us? And he shakes his head. He feels sick. The beer is sloshing about in his stomach, but the table is so full of cans and bottles that there’s no space left to put his half-full can down. He keeps on drinking it, even though he doesn’t really want it.

When the others leave, the kitchen is quiet again, only him left. He sits there for a while, and his phone digs into his leg. He picks the phone out of his pocket and opens Instagram, going straight to Seungkwan’s profile. It’s the most recent username in his search suggestions.

There’s a new post, a picture of him with his volleyball friends. He looks good, healthy. Smiling. He starts scrolling down the account, even though he’s already seen these posts before, and is careful not to leave any likes behind. It’s tempting to leave a comment saying _I miss you_ , but he knows that would be a bad idea. Opens a direct message instead, and stares at the screen. After a while of not knowing what to type, he closes the app.

He finds himself standing and stumbling to the bathroom to throw up into the toilet. When he’s done, he sits on the bathroom floor for a while. It’s peaceful.

Eventually, he crawls back into bed.

-

2013.11.8 / Seongnam / Seungkwan

“Wait, where is Hansol again?”

“Family trip? They’re in Busan for the weekend.”

“Oh, that sounds so fun!”

“I know right?” he sighs, lying beside Seokmin on his bed. “We should go on a trip like that sometime. I’m too jealous.”

“Sure. I still need to pick something from the bucket list for this month, but a whole trip might be too much for my mom right now.”

“I don’t think you mom would ever be able to handle it. Nor mine, actually.”

“Well, maybe Hansol will bring us back souvenirs!” Seokmin says brightly, as if that’s just the same thing.

“Seokmin!” Mrs. Lee says, sliding open his bedroom door. “It’s time for your doses, darling.”

Seokmin groans, but Seungkwan sits up on the bed. “C’mon, Hyung, let’s do it! I enjoy it. I feel like it helps with my swelling.”

“They’re breathing exercises, Seungkwan. Meant for your lungs, not your jawline.”

“Can you let me dream?”

Seokmin tips the antibiotics into his palm and throws his head back to swallow them, quickly followed by some water. From the corner of the room, Seungkwan takes the initiative to drag out his tank. He’s not quite sure what’s in the tank, but he knows it’s important medication, something to help thin the mucus building in his lungs so that he can cough it up or drain it out with the help of his medical team. Seokmin secures the mask to his mouth and fiddles with the switches on the tank. When it rattles to life, he begins to take deep breaths in to inhale the medication.

He likes to sit and meditate while Seokmin does this. The rhythmic clicking of the tank is strangely relaxing, and the room is quiet as they sit together, Seokmin on the bed and him with his legs out on the floor. He shuts his eyes and listens to the slow, heavy breathing. Mrs. Lee hovers at the doorway, watching him take his dosage. Seokmin hasn’t had an infection since the lung collapse incident, so it seems that the treatment is making life better for him. Less painful, at least.

When he’s done with that, it’s time for the breathing exercises, the part he can join in with. Mrs. Lee puts the tank back as they sit opposite each other on the floor, taking a deep breath in, deep breath out. A few times Seokmin stops to cough, spitting into the trash. He’s used to it, and has stopped flinching when it happens, continuing with the steady breathing so that Seokmin can slip back into the rhythm easily. They avoid each other’s eyes, because they’d learned the hard way that looking at each other only makes them laugh and become distracted. At this point, they’re well practised in efficiency, and he likes to think they make a good team.

He’s a little lightheaded when they’re done, so he lays back on the floor, staring up at the ceiling to avoid getting dizzy. Seokmin laughs, but joins him down there, and they stare at the ceiling together. Mrs. Lee quietly slides the door shut behind her.

“I would ask you to sleep over, but you wouldn’t believe how bad the coughing gets at night,” Seokmin murmurs, reaching for his hand.

He grasps his hand right back. “That’s okay. We’ll be able to finish the homework before I leave, if we get up from the floor now.”

Neither of them move. “That’s boring, though. Do you want to play a game?”

“I don’t know,” he says. “I quite like it here.”

“Alright. Are you thinking about something?”

He turns his head to look at him. “How did you know?”

“You only get all quiet like this when you’re thinking about something big.”

“You’ve known me for way too long.”

“Nah, I’m just good like that. And you’re rarely quiet.”

He smiles. “Yeah, I’ve been thinking about something big for a while now. I want to tell you, but it’s kind of scary.”

“As big as your parents’ split?”

“Mm… probably. It’s more personal to me.”

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

“Don’t say that. I’ve been working myself up to it because I want to tell you.”

“Okay, then tell me now.”

He laughs. “You’re straightforward, aren’t you?”

“I think you’ve already complicated it enough for yourself.” Seokmin props himself up on one elbow to look down at Seungkwan, expression kind and open. When he meets those bright eyes, it comes out all too easily.

“I’m gay.”

Seokmin stills, frozen for a few seconds, and Seungkwan’s heart immediately ices over.

He whirs back into motion without blinking. “Oh! Well. That’s nice. I wasn’t really expecting you to say that.”

“What—what were you expecting?”

“I don’t know! But I’m not—this isn’t terrible news—it’s good! Isn’t it? It’s good news, right?”

He can’t help but give a spluttering laugh. “Why are you asking me that?”

“Well, I mean, are you happy about it? You can’t get married in this country, so that sucks, and it’s probably hard to find a boyfriend, not that…” Seokmin suddenly trails off. “Wait. I know why you’re telling me this.”

“What?”

“You like Hansol!”

He feels himself colouring red. “Wh-what!”

“Woah,” Seokmin says, staring at him, slack jawed. “That’s awesome. I can’t believe I never saw it before!”

“Shut up!” he says. “We’re not talking about this! It’s not on topic! I’m trying to come out to you, and I’ve never done this before!”

“Really? I’m the first one?” his voice softens, and he puts a hand to his chest. “I’m touched, Seungkwan, for real. You’ve only told me?”

“Yeah,” he huffs, splaying his hands over his face and laughing to himself. “This is crazy. Anyway. Don’t tell Hansol. Not yet. I just wanted you to know.”

Seokmin lies back down next to him, pulling Seungkwan’s hands away gently.

“Thank you for telling me.”

“You’re the one I trust the most,” he says. “It’s kind of good to get it off my chest, too.”

“I bet,” Seokmin says, cuddling closer to him. “I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks. I’m working through that other thing. Don’t worry about that, okay?”

“About Hansol?”

“I don’t want to hear his name in reference to my sexuality again. We’re going to act normal, okay?”

“Okay,” Seokmin concedes. “Though now that I think about it, it totally makes sense. He might be able to guess that you like guys before you even tell him.”

He sits up and reaches out for Seokmin’s pillow on the bed, swinging it over at him. Seokmin manages to dodge it before it thwacks him on the shoulder. “Not a word!”

“Alright!” Seokmin laughs, hands in the air. “I won’t say a thing. But if you ever need love advice…”

He’s cut off by the thump of a pillow in his face, and the sound of his laughter ringing high in the air.

-

2016.11.30 / Los Angeles / Hansol

The window in his bedroom faces the building next door, right opposite the window of another accommodation bedroom. As a result, he tends to keep his blinds closed all the times, to avoid any awkward eye contact with the girl living there. The kitchen window is far larger, floor to ceiling, and faces the city landscape. Much more light comes in this window during the day, and at night, rows of twinkling city lights are spaced out in the dark. Perks of living on the top floor.

Sometimes he likes to sit by this big window, especially at times when the flat is quiet. It’s been one of those days today. With 4am creeping closer, he’s sat by this window in the dark kitchen, looking out at the view and listening to Seungkwan’s Saturday evening radio slot.

“Woozi, through all this talk, I haven’t asked you how your week has been,” Seungkwan says, voice so clear it makes him ache. If he lets his eyes lose focus, he can almost pretend to see him in the window’s reflection.

“I’m sure it’s not been as exciting as yours, Seungkwan,” Woozi counters, playfully. “I heard the calligraphy club won best presentation with your piece last week?”

“It’s less impressive when you consider that there are three calligraphy societies across all of South Korea, but yes, we won first place, thank you very much! We are the best of the three, and though Kyungnam and Cheju submitted admirable pieces, I think they should work harder on them next time.”

“Is calligraphy really that competitive?”

“You don’t know the half of it.”

He’s half asleep against the windowpane when the kitchen light switches on, causing him to jump right out of his skin. He pries his forehead from the window to turn and see Josh, squinting at him from the doorway.

“Vernon?” he says, voice scratchy. “What are you doing in here?”

“Sorry. I was listening to the radio. I didn’t wake you up, did I?”

“That’s all we have today, so we’ll wish you guys a good evening. Remember your deadlines, and we hope to see you at some of the events on campus this week. I’ve been Woozi…”

“And I’ve been Seungkwan for Kookmin University Campus Radio. Goodnight, everyone.”

Their ending jingle starts to play, so he picks his phone up to turn the stream off, ignoring the way Joshua is staring at him.

“No, you didn’t wake me up,” he says slowly. He blinks a few times, then shuffles over to the fridge door, taking out a carton of orange juice. “Why were you listening to the Kookmin University radio at 4am?”

He knocks his head against the window. “It’s kind of complicated.”

Joshua pours his drink and places the carton back in the fridge. “Try me. You look like you need someone to talk to right now.” He raises his head again to look at Josh, who comes to sit by him on the kitchen floor. “Oh. It’s a pretty nice view from here.”

“Right? This is my favourite place in the flat.”

Josh takes a sip of his drink and curls his legs under him.

He sighs, looking out of the window. “One of the hosts, Seungkwan, is a friend of mine. My best friend. We’ve known each other for a really long time.” He’s not sure how to untangle their story from there.

“You’re a supportive friend, listening to his radio show at 4am,” he prompts, only slightly amused.

“He doesn’t know I’m listening. I only tune in to know he’s doing okay. We haven’t been talking lately.”

“What happened?”

“Our other best friend, Seokmin, died in June. He’d been sick for a long time, but it still hit us both hard.”

“Shit,” Josh breathes, eyes wide. “That’s awful. I’m really sorry to hear that.”

He shrugs. “Things were weird after that. We had to finish our exams and make decisions about school, all whilst grieving and figuring out what we do without him. It was difficult. Things blew up in this fight about me studying in America, and then we stopped talking. I left for L.A. without making things up with him, and we haven’t spoken since then.”

Joshua is quiet for a moment. “Yeah. That’s heavy.”

“The worst part is, the fight was so dumb. He was right all along. I’ve wanted to come here for years, to see California and study in the country my mom is from. But now that I’m here, I can’t bring myself to do anything. I’m so behind on my studies there’s no way I’ll catch up, because I don’t actually care about school at all. I’ve had the same friends for so long that I’m realising I don’t know how to make new ones. I don’t even know how to function without them. I should’ve stayed in Korea.” His eyes are hot, and he rubs at them absently. When his hands come away wet, he realises he’s crying.

“Vernon…” Josh speaks very softly. “He wasn’t necessarily right about your fight, you know. You’re allowed to follow your dreams, no matter what others think is right for you. You’re just not in the right mindset to enjoy California right now. You’ve been through a lot, dude.”

He nods, feeling a tear slide down his cheek. “I know. I just don’t know what to do about it.”

“I think you should call him. Make up. You deserve to support each other through something like this.”

He shakes his head. “He’s okay. He’s made all these new friends at Kookmin. Seungkwan always was the outgoing one.”

“That doesn’t mean he’s forgotten about you. A smile on social media doesn’t mean he isn’t struggling too. You lost your best friend, and he’s the only other person who knows how that feels.”

He doesn’t reply. He’s not stupid—of course he knows that Seungkwan is still grieving. He just doesn’t think that calling would help anything. With the distance between them, the reason for their fight staring them in the face, how can he justify reaching out?

“The winter break is coming up,” Josh says after a while. “Will you be going back to Korea?”

“No, my Dad is flying over here instead. We’re having our Christmas and early Lunar New Year celebrations at my Grandma’s place in Florida.”

“Maybe when you see your parents, you could talk to them about dropping out, or transferring schools. There’s no point in being here if it’s killing you slowly.”

“Yeah,” he says, throat starting to close up. “I think I’ll do that.”

Josh sits by him for a while after that, the two of them watching the blinking city lights together.

Eventually, he switches to Korean and says,

“Thanks, Hyung.”

“No problem,” Josh replies, smiling. “Are you going back to bed?”

He shakes his head. “You can go on. It’s okay. I like it here.”

Josh takes his empty glass to the sink and heads to bed, switching off the kitchen light as he goes. Hansol rests his head against the window again, settling in to see the sunrise.

-

2016.12.1 / Seoul / Seungkwan

He leans over the bar and signals for another three tequila shots, waving his card in front of the machine as they’re put down in front of him. He salutes the bartender for his hard work before downing them one after the other. Heat spreads through him, and the dancefloor calls for his attention again.

There’d been a cute boy around here before, but he’d lost track of him somewhere, with the crowd moving too fast and people packed too closely together to get a proper look at anyone. Feeling dizzy and warm, he decides he’s ready to dance with someone new. He doesn’t mind flitting between the groups of people here until he takes someone’s interest, and eases his way past the pair of drag queens and their surrounding admirers to get to the other half of the room. There, he spots a tall guy who looks a little lonely, dancing amongst a group of women. He starts to playfully gesture to him as he makes his way over—hopefully he’s not a straight guy, horribly lost in a gay club.

It seems not, by the way he accepts Seungkwan’s come-on immediately. He’s pleased, and sidles over to dance in front of him properly. The new position gives him a good look at the guy—as it turns out, it’s a face he already knows.

“Seungkwan!” Mingyu shouts over the music, canines poking out of his delighted grin.

“Mingyu!” he exclaims, head swimming. The sudden immediacy of this boy he’s been playfully flirting with all semester—who is, it seems, also into guys—dancing so close to him in a club makes him feel hot all over. “You’re here! And you’re gay!”

Mingyu taps his ear—it’s hard to hear what anyone’s saying over the deafening music, which is probably for the best—so Seungkwan takes the opportunity to put his hands to the back of his neck, leaning in close. “You here to dance?” he shouts, close to his ear.

Mingyu shrugs. Still can’t hear him. Oh well, they can still dance.

He laughs, and starts moving in time with Mingyu and his friends, feeling the heavy bass thrumming through him. It doesn’t take long for him to turn around and start shaking his ass in Mingyu’s direction, which makes him consider the vague possibility that he might be extremely drunk. When he turns to look back, though, Mingyu is laughing at him, face bright and cheeks pink, so the thought flees his mind to make room for that pretty view instead. He’s more than happy to stay here for the night, to match the energy of Mingyu and his friends as the music ramps up, a SHINee remix sending everyone jumping. The tall girl next to him is cheering for his dancing, and starts copying his moves, so he vibes with her for a while, feeding off her enthusiasm.

Some time passes—it’s hard to tell how much—and he can feel Mingyu’s body heat pressing close behind him as they dance. He seems eager enough, but too nervous to properly lay a hand on Seungkwan, to make any real moves. Fortunately for him, Seungkwan is not patient by nature—he turns to face him again, slinging an arm around his neck and taking Mingyu’s hand in his own, guiding it to rest on his butt.

“You wanna make out?” he shouts.

Mingyu, the horny young man he is, understands him perfectly fine this time, and quickly leans in to meet Seungkwan’s mouth. His hand squeezes his butt, and then his tongue is in Seungkwan’s mouth, hot and heavy. The tall girl behind them hoots wildly, and he reciprocates as best he can to Mingyu’s enthusiasm, but it’s all he can do to hold on and try not to fall over under his weight. Their teeth click together once or twice, but then he starts to get into it, enjoying the way heat flushes around his body. He’s so sweaty that he’s sure he mustn’t look great right now, so he sends his thanks to the low lighting of the club for undoubtedly doing him some favours.

They part to catch their breath, and a red light passes over them. They’re stood so close together that he can only see a section of Mingyu’s face, all strong cheekbones and wide eyes. For half a second, under the lights, he looks just like Hansol.

Mingyu goes in again, kissing him messily, and Seungkwan’s arm loosens around his neck. After a few seconds, there’s a salty taste to the kiss, and Mingyu pulls away. His hands move to cup Seungkwan’s face, who looks up at him, dazed, trying to understand what he’s saying. Mingyu’s thumbs swipe at his cheeks. Is he crying? He blinks, and his vision blurs. Yeah, he’s crying.

Mingyu shouts something into the ear of the tall girl, who nods and pats Seungkwan’s arm kindly. Then he’s being pulled away from her, out through the club and into the cloakroom, where Mingyu picks up their coats. He goes willingly, unsteady on his feet. His head is starting to throb painfully.

Snowflakes are starting to fall outside, and when the frosty night air hits his wet cheeks, he can hear that his breaths are short and clipped with sobs. Crying in a club might be a new low for him.

“Seungkwan,” Mingyu says, voice a little muffled through the ringing in his ears. He’s trying to coax Seungkwan’s arms through his coat sleeves as he talks. “Are you alright? Are you hurt? Or really drunk?”

“I’m a mess,” he wails, breaking out into fresh tears. Mingyu starts to fret over him, zipping up his coat and pulling him away from the club entrance. Seungkwan decides that the street curb is a very good place to sit down, at least until he stops feeling so dizzy, but he nearly slips off it as he wobbles forward. Mingyu grabs his elbow to steady him before coming to sit down too.

“You’re okay, really,” he says, patting his arm. “I wasn’t too much, right? People tell me I’m too much sometimes.”

“No, it’s not you.” He dismisses him with a hiccup. “It’s me. I’m a total disaster.”

“You’re really drunk,” Mingyu says gently. “I’ll take you home, okay? Who were you with in there?”

“No one.”

“No one? You came out clubbing by yourself?” His voice rises. “Do you know how dangerous that is? Especially at a gay club, especially in this part of Seoul—”

“I know,” he moans. “I know! But I can’t sleep. When I have too much of the night left, I don’t want it—I’d rather do anything but lie in bed and think. I just want to go out and enjoy myself. But I don’t know anyone else who would come to a gay club with me, so I come on my own and make friends when I arrive. It’s fun, and I’m careful. I haven’t gotten into trouble so far.”

“It’s still not safe. You know me, so call me next time you want to go out, okay? Don’t go on your own. I’m going to call a taxi to get us back to campus.”

“No!” he whines, abruptly standing up and stumbling away from Mingyu. “I’m hungry! I want food!”

“Seungkwan!” Mingyu calls, standing up after him. “Everywhere is closed!”

“No!” he insists. Mingyu tries to catch his arm, but he pulls away. “There’s an all-night ramen place up here. Come on!”

Mingyu sighs, but doesn’t try to stop him again. Success! Other than steering him away from a signpost he was about to walk into, Mingyu doesn’t touch him again, but walks in time with him through the well-lit streets of Seoul. Seungkwan sings a Brown Eyed Girls song under his breath as they walk, and almost misses the doorway of the restaurant when he gets too into the chorus.

Mingyu’s hand on his shoulder places him firmly into one of the metal chairs. “I’ll get us two pots,” he says. “Stay here.”

Seungkwan glares up at him, but he’s secretly glad that he’s offered to do the hard bit. He kind of wishes he’d taken up the offer for the taxi now—he’s tired enough to melt into this chair.

He jerks awake again to the sound of the other chair scraping back. “Eat up. I’m calling a cab in no more than five minutes.”

Instant ramen is so much better when it’s served in a shitty bowl belonging to this hole-in-the-wall all-night place. He’s never been here sober, but he’s sure that’s not a factor in how amazing it tastes. It’s the best ramen he’s ever had.

“Don’t you have the Friday morning radio show after this?” Mingyu asks through his mouthful.

“Yeah,” he says, not pausing to scoop up another bite. “I’ll nap before I go on and sober up by the time I get to Jihoon’s studio.”

“How often do you do this?”

“Going out?” he shrugs. “Thursday nights, at the very least. Thursday nights are always the worst.”

“Why don’t you see a doctor about sleeping? I’m sure they could give you pills for that.”

“It’s not the sleeping that’s the problem. It’s my head.” He flicks his own forehead. “Ow. It’s only been happening since Seokmin died.”

Mingyu slows in his eating. “Who’s Seokmin?”

“My best friend. He’s dead.” He wishes he would stop asking questions. He can’t stop talking when he’s drunk. (Hansol would say he’s no different sober).

“Have you seen a counsellor or anything?”

He nods. “I’m in student support. The counsellor there reminds me every week that I can talk to him about my feelings whenever I like, but I don’t want to do that. How would that help? Talking about it hurts. I don’t like it.”

“It’s to help you process your feelings. Keeping it all inside is what will hurt you more in the long run.”

He wrinkles his nose at him. “You sound like Hansol. You looked like him too, in the club. That’s why I can’t kiss you again.”

Mingyu blinks. “Who’s Hansol?”

“My best friend.” Swallows his mouthful. “Other best friend. He’s alive, but might as well be dead to me.”

“Why’s that?”

“In America. Won’t talk to me.” There’s barely any ramen left. He scrapes around the bowl to get one last bite between his chopsticks. “Did you call the taxi?”

“Why won’t he speak to you?”

“Because I won’t speak to him.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“I’m drunk,” Seungkwan informs him, pointedly. “Do you need me to call the taxi?”

Mingyu picks his phone up from the table. “We should talk about this when you’re sober.”

“That’s not happening,” he says, swallowing the last mouthful and putting down the chopsticks. One of them drops from table and clatters to the floor. “I told you, I’m a mess.”

“Going through a hard time means you need to rely on the people around you more than ever. I know you’re an independent sort of person, but you’re allowed to let other people see the cracks sometimes. It’s healthy, even.” He squats to pick up the chopstick, placing it beside his empty bowl again.

Seungkwan squints at him. “When did you get so wise, volleyball boy?”

Mingyu taps something on his phone, then holds it to his ear. “I was blessed with knowledge from the gods when I held your ass earlier.”

That makes him laugh, mostly out of surprise. It’s not _that_ funny, but he sits there and laughs until he cries, until he’s breathless and tired and ready to fall into a dreamless, blissful sleep.

-

2013.5.17 / Seoul / Seungkwan

He taps his foot impatiently and looks back over his shoulder, as if Hansol could be hiding somewhere behind them. He knew it had been a bad idea, agreeing to meet up at the station instead of at Seokmin’s place, because Hansol is terrible at managing himself. Especially when he’s over at Luda’s—she’s a bad influence on him, lets him do as he pleases, doesn’t push him to meet his damn appointments.

Okay, that’s a little unfair. He has no issues with Luda. She’s very nice. He’s only about to have issues with Hansol, if he misses their plans on Seokmin’s one freedom day of the month.

“Don’t worry so much,” Seokmin says, taking his hand in reassurance. “He’ll be here.”

He glances at the clock. Two minutes until departure. “He’s cutting it fine.”

“He’ll come.”

The sound of a train rushing along the tracks picks up in the distance. One minute until departure.

“I’m going to strangle him,” he mutters.

“No, you aren’t,” Seokmin says.

Thirty seconds later, their train pulls into the station, doors sliding open. Passengers filter out, people on the platform start to rush in, and there’s still no Hansol.

“We have to go,” Seungkwan says, and Seokmin is faltering now, glancing back at the station entrance nervously.

“Yeah. Let’s go.”

They step on board after the crowd of people, caught behind two businessmen scurrying for seats. He pulls Seokmin through the train, pushing past an older man politely. “Do you see anywhere we can sit?”

“There’s some free seats over there,” Hansol says, and Seungkwan whips around as fast as he can in the cramped space to see him standing behind Seokmin, breathless and windswept. The door behind him slides shut.

He reaches around Seokmin to hit him. “Where did you come from?”

“The station.”

“I think you did not!”

“Let’s go,” Seokmin urges, ushering him towards the free seats. The train starts moving, causing them all to lurch, and he glares at Hansol before turning to walk up the aisle. He sits on the seat closest to the window, and Seokmin sits next to him, with Hansol sliding in opposite them.

“Did you run all the way here or something?” Seokmin laughs. He reaches over to brush down Hansol’s hair, sticking up in all directions.

Hansol grins. “I did lose track of time a bit.”

“Having too much fun with Luda?” he asks, and the bite in his tone surprises even him. Seokmin glances at him, but Seungkwan avoids his eyes.

“She was beating me at street fighter. I was trying to finish the round before leaving her place, but I ended up having to run all the way through Seohyeon to get here on time.”

He blatantly stares at the hickey on Hansol’s neck. “Right.”

“Did you win?” Seokmin asks.

“No,” he laughs. “It was close though.”

He looks away from Hansol’s neck and stares out of the window as they pass through Seongnam. Seokmin asks him about the character he’d played, or something equally boring like that. Seungkwan rests his head on Seokmin’s shoulder and continues to stare out of the window, pretending not to be listening.

He knows he should give up on Hansol already. It’s not like he’d ever be interested in Seungkwan even if he weren’t straight, what with Seungkwan’s wild moods and high standards and sub-par looks. He knows he’s never had a chance with him, and he’s trying to rationalise that to himself, but Hansol getting himself a girlfriend is like a new punch to the stomach. Like a punishment for even daring to daydream about him like that.

“Seungkwan?” Hansol says, pulling him from his thoughts. “Are you mad at me?”

“No,” he says, not looking at him.

“Then why are you acting like you are?”

“I’m not,” he says, sitting up straight, suddenly making a resolution to himself. He will not be a brat about the fact that Hansol has a girlfriend. He won’t. There will be other boys, and he can still love Hansol as a friend. “I just don’t know the first thing about street fighter.”

“You know, I have an arcade day on my bucket list,” Seokmin says. “When that freedom day comes around, we’ll be putting you to the test.”

“Arcades are fine. I’ll end you both at DDR. Video games are a different thing.”

“It’s not that different.”

“No, it’s totally different. I beat Hansol at motorbike racing last time we were there, remember? I just don’t play console games.”

“That’s true, you did! Maybe an arcade day should come up sooner than I thought.”

For today’s trip, Seokmin had asked to come and see the Daejeon KGC vs Hwaseong IBK Altos qualifier in the V-League. His parents had offered to get them seats for the finals, but they’d agreed to go for the Daejeon KGC qualifier match instead. They’re Seungkwan and Seokmin’s favourite volleyball team, and have been for years, ever since his own mother had passed down her love for them. Hansol, ever the easy-going friend, can learn to cheer for the right side quickly enough.

Once the game starts, his worries are quickly lost in the pace of the set. The professionals play faster than the three of them ever can, and it’s easy to be swept along with the excitement of the audience. Being a spectator in the hall is so different to watching it live from home, the intensity of the game almost making him feel like he’s out there on the court himself, disappointed whenever KGC miss the ball and cheering whenever they score. Hansol, who usually sits on his phone when they’re watching a match, doesn’t take his eyes from the game the whole time they’re there. He even cheers at the right times without being prompted.

When KGC win the match, they all stand from their seats to cheer raucously, Seungkwan throwing his fist in the air and screaming. Seokmin then proceeds to grip onto Seungkwan’s arms in delight, half jumping on him, making him laugh and grip Seokmin right back. The elation feels is so strong that the victory might as well be his own, and it puts him in high spirits as they leave the hall, talking fast about the highlights of the match.

“Those last three minutes were insane! I don’t know how they were playing so hard after how long the game was.”

“They’re so cool,” Seokmin says, glancing back at the building once before they lose sight of it, turning down the street towards the station. “Imagine being one of those players right now! The feeling of winning must be amazing!”

“They deserve it, for how well they played!” he says, pulling Seokmin in the right direction when he tries to cross the wrong street. “I hope they can win the match against Suwon and qualify for the finals. I’d love to see them in the play-offs again.”

“Watching from home won’t be the same anymore,” Seokmin says wistfully. “Even Hansol watched it all!”

“It was fun!” Hansol says. “Maybe you guys were right all along about volleyball being kind of exciting.”

“This is what we’ve been trying to tell you! There’s no telling men, is there?” he says, jostling Hansol’s arm.

Hansol bumps him right back. “Yeah, yeah. If I watch the next match with you, will you play street fighter with us sometime?”

“Now you’re pushing it. Let’s see how the match goes first.”

“Alright,” Hansol grins. “I’ll take it.”

-

2016.12.20 / Cape Coral / Hansol

The flight across the U.S. is exhausting, and by the time he arrives at Grandma’s house he’s just conscious enough to greet everyone before passing out for ten hours straight. When he wakes again, it’s the early hours of the morning, and the house is quiet. It’s starting to dawn on him that he’s going to have to try and fix his sleeping habits before Christmas day.

He pulls himself out of bed to find food, slipping through the house quietly; Grandma is still recovering, and he knows she’s a light sleeper. He grabs an apple and cereal bar from the kitchen and carefully slides the patio door open to stand outside. Despite being the middle of December, the night is humid and warm, so very different to the frozen Korean winters he’s used to back home. Sunlight is starting to break between the houses, the sky slowly warming over into soft blues.

“Hey baby,” his mom’s voice calls.

He blinks and looks around for her. No one is sat in the chairs by the pool, nor on the grass by the fence. “Mom?”

“Up here,” she replies softly, and he backs away from the house to look up. His mom is perched on the rooftop with a notebook in hand, wrapped up in a fleece and blanket. She never did get used to the Korean winters. “Want to join me?”

She points to the ladder propped up against the side of the house. He eyes it up, then sticks the apple in his mouth and breakfast bar in his pocket, and carefully takes the rungs one by one. Part of the roof is flat enough to walk along, which is where she’s sat, leaning against the slope of the rooftop behind her. He settles beside her there, careful not to knock her coloured pencils off the edge.

“Hi.”

“Hey yourself.” She’s sketching a layer of water out along the bottom of her page, though they can’t see the water from this direction. It’s still under the dark part of the sky behind them.

“Have you been waking up this early for Grandma?”

“For myself, actually. It’s the quietest time. And for you, sometimes. I know you prefer your calls very late or very early.”

“Yeah.” He’s never been the sort of son to hide things from her, but the distance had made everything harder. Harder than he’d expected. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that, actually.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He takes a deep breath in, then slowly releases the air again. “I haven’t been doing very well, lately.”

The rhythmic scratch of her pencil against the paper picks up as the first yellows start to show in the sky. “With school?”

“With everything. I think I need to drop out.”

Mom hums. “I’ve been getting phone calls from the school, you know. They said that your attendance this year has been zero. That your tutors haven’t seen you all semester.”

“Yeah, that’s right,” he says. “Why didn’t you tell me about that before?”

“I was waiting for you to make your own decision about what you wanted. You know I never felt that a business degree was right for you, but I’m still really proud of you for giving it a go.”

“You were right about that. I picked business because I didn’t know what else do to, and people told me it was applicable, but it’s really not right for me. It’s not just about the subject, though. It’s hard to face school at all right now. I don’t know…. I was thinking of switching to some music modules in the new semester, so I can say I tried what I wanted before dropping out. Then I might be able to scrape by enough credits for one year of college.”

“Music?”

“Yeah. It’s what I’ve been relying on lately. I want to learn how to make it properly.”

“That suits you so much more, baby. We’ll support you, if that’s what you want. You know you don’t have to do a degree at all if you don’t want to, right?”

“I know,” he says. “But I want to try my best.”

She puts down her pencil to ruffle his hair. “I’m proud of you. You’re doing so well.”

She picks up one of the pinks, and he shakes his hair back out of his eyes. “I don’t know if you’d say that if you saw what I’ve been like the past few months.”

“I think I would,” she muses. “You’ve been trying to do your studies despite a terrible recent loss, despite falling out with your best friend, and despite your heart not being in your subject. When that didn’t work out for you, you came to me with a plan on how to fix things on the first day of winter break. You’re eighteen, Hansol, and you’ve been through so much, and you’re being such a mature young man about it.”

He rests his head against her arm, watching the other hand deftly blend pink into orange. “You make it sound better than it is. I still haven’t made things up with Seungkwan.”

“You will.” She sounds so sure. “You two can’t be apart for long. Do you think you’ll call him on his birthday?”

“I don’t know.”

“Think about it, honey. You know he’d want to hear from you.”

“Mm.”

The sun finally breaks the sky, chasing away the last black hues of night, and he shutters his eyelids to shield against the morning glare. In the new light, the colours on her paper look brighter, careful shades dancing across the page. For a while, he sits and watches her sketch, the drawing gradually filling as the sun rises higher.

“Mom?”

“Yes, Hansol?”

“When I go back to L.A., I think I want to try and see a doctor. Or, you know. A therapist.”

She puts her pencil to the side and holds her sketch up to the sky. There’s no white left on the page, except where it peeks through the palest yellow. “We can make that happen. Of course we can.” She puts the notebook down and leans over to kiss the side of his face, stroking her hand through his hair. “I’m glad you asked.”

He accepts the kiss, looking at her when she pulls away. She looks older now than he’d remembered, more tired, but the lines under her eyes are still smiling. He smiles back, and they rest against the rooftop together, watching the sun gradually usher in a white morning.

-

2017.1.16 / Seoul / Seungkwan

Soonyoung steps up onto the karaoke room table and proceeds to scream the next lyric of the song rather than sing it. Mingyu collapses to his knees at the sight, overcome by a new round of laughter, and Jeonghan decides to round the table to dance in front of him, devilishly encouraging. They’re going to be kicked out any minute now, but he can’t bring himself to care, jumping in time with the music to hype Soonyoung up. Jihoon also laughs at them from where he’s sat in the corner, pink-cheeked and happily clutching a bottle of soju.

_“Oh, I’m curious! Yeah!”_ Soonyoung jumps up, promptly hitting his head on the ceiling.

“He’s going to break the table,” Seungcheol says, half laughing, half concerned. Soonyoung clutches his head and continues to dance to the last notes of the song, undeterred.

“Yeah!” Soonyoung yells into the mic. The door of the karaoke room opens, and the girl from reception gives them all blank look.

“Your time is up. Please get down from the table.”

“Ah,” Soonyoung says, and the mic echoes him back. “Sorry.”

“It’s too bad,” Jeonghan says, still grinning as the group collectively come down from their high. “I suppose it is about time to we get back home.”

“What? It’s barely 1am!” Seungkwan says. “Don’t you want to find an all-night place and get food?”

“Our exams start next week, Seungkwanie,” Seungcheol says. “I’m sorry we can’t stay out later. I think Soonyoung might need to go to bed soon, anyway.”

The man in question hiccups as he steps down from the table, almost toppling over onto Mingyu. “M’fine.”

“Yeah,” Seungkwan concedes. “Maybe you’re right.”

“It’s been fun,” Jihoon says, clearing away their bottles as the others pick up their belongings. “Happy Birthday, Seungkwan.”

“Yeah, Happy Birthday!”

“Happy Birthday again, Kwan.”

He thanks them all with a smile and a wave of his hand, reaching out to hoist Mingyu up from the floor. “Thank you for celebrating with me. I’ve had a great night.”

“I’m glad,” Seungcheol says, holding the door open for him as he pulls a staggering Soonyoung out through the building—he’s pink-faced and giddy even as they hit the frosty night air outside, clinging to Mingyu as they walk down the street.

They huddle together at the bus stop for a few minutes before saying their goodbyes to the Hyungs, who are headed to other campus. Their bus comes not long after, and Soonyoung sinks against the cold windowpane as soon as they make it on board, suddenly half-asleep in a drunken daze.

“I suppose it is kind of late,” he murmurs, taking the seat next to Soonyoung and watching his cheek meld to the glass.

Mingyu takes the seat in front of him, turning back to face Seungkwan. “Did you have more plans for tonight?”

He shrugs. “I’ll probably call my sister when I get home. She’s working nights now, so she was asleep when I called my Ma and other sister earlier.”

“Sounds like you’re close with your family.”

“Jinseol and I fight like cat and dog, but I love them a lot. I might watch a movie or something before I go to sleep, too.”

They’re quiet for a bit. The low rumble of the bus underneath him is soothing. Mingyu keeps glancing at him, then at Soonyoung’s face flattened against the window, then back at Seungkwan again.

“I’ve seen you, you know.”

“Well, I’d hope so. You have eyes.”

“I’ve seen you looking at your phone all night long. Have you been talking to Hansol?”

He slumps in his seat, cursing Kim Mingyu’s perceptiveness. Then he curses his own drunken mouth for being too big. Most of all, he curses Hansol for forgetting about his birthday. For making him wait all day to hear from him. A simple _Happy Birthday_. Anything.

“No. He hasn’t.”

Mingyu purses his lips. “Have you contacted him?”

“No. And I told you, I don’t want to talk about it.”

Soonyoung snores beside them.

“You know, he probably thinks you don’t want to hear from him, the same way that you think that too. If you were the first one to reach out…”

“Stop,” he says. His eyes feel hot, and he’s been trying so hard not to cry on his birthday. “Seriously.”

They fall quiet again, and he bites the inside of his cheek, looking past Soonyoung and out of the window. Mingyu looks at the floor, sufficiently chastised, and doesn’t speak again until the bus arrives.

They manoeuvre the half-asleep Soonyoung into the dorm building together, Seungkwan wordlessly pulling doors open ahead of them, swiping his key against the building entrance, their floor entrance, and the apartment door.

“Hyung, you’d better have your key on you, because you’re not sleeping in my bed.”

“Mmm,” Soonyoung says, patting around his back pocket and producing his door key. “G’night.”

“Do you need any help…?”

Soonyoung’s bedroom door is shut in their faces, followed by the sound of squeaking bedsprings.

“Well then,” he says. “At least he’ll sleep well.”

“He’s lucky you live together,” Mingyu says.

“Very.”

Mingyu looks at him, then down at the floor, clearly unsure of himself.

“Thanks for coming out tonight, Hyung,” he says. He doesn’t want to leave things on a bad note with him. “I’m glad you came.”

“Anytime,” he says, giving him a small smile. “Are you sure you don’t need company for that movie?”

He smiles back, shakes his head. “I’ll be okay, thanks.”

“Okay.” Mingyu nods, voice low in the hallway. “I’ll see you at the next volleyball meet, then.”

“Yeah. See you then.”

He sees Mingyu to the door, waving to him as he walks back to the stairway, headed up several flights to his own apartment. He remains at the doorway until he disappears out of sight, then drops his smile.

Being alone is the worst. He’d been banking on Soonyoung lasting a little longer tonight, wanting to mindlessly chat until late, but he’d had way too much to drink way too early on. Mingyu is nice, but it’s weird to be alone with him since the club incident, so that’s a no go. All the final year guys have their studies. Hansol is in California. His sisters are back home. He’s alone again.

So he makes his way back to his room, switching on the gentle lamplight and sitting on his bed. Looks down at his phone again—plenty of new notifications from across his social medias, but nothing from the person that matters the most. He opens his contacts, scrolling down to Seokmin’s name and staring at it. He’s not sure he can face messaging him tonight.

He dials Sojeong’s number instead, hoping she doesn’t have any customers.

“Seungkwan.” As soon as her soft voice filters through the speaker, the tension starts to ease from his shoulders.

He lays down on his back. “Hi, Noona.”

“Happy Birthday. Did you get my gift?”

“Yes, thank you. You picked good ones. I think I’m going to use the berry facemask later.”

“Later? It’s already pretty late, kid.”

“It’s my birthday. Don’t tell me what to do.”

“It’s technically the day after your birthday, now.”

“It’s still my birthday whilst I’m still celebrating it,” he says. “I just got back from noraebang. It was fun. We should drag Ma out to one sometime.”

“You went to noraebang for your birthday? Cute. That’s very you.”

“I went with friends. They got me some shitty gifts, but it’s okay cause I love them, and I had fun tonight.”

“What, all of them got you shitty gifts? Don’t they know you at all?”

“Well, not all of them. Jihoon bought me a new microphone, because I mentioned that I wanted to start recording proper song covers. He’s a good listener. And Jeonghan got me a shirt I passed in a store last week and said I liked. They are good friends! It’s mostly Soonyoung who’s bad at gifts.”

“What did he get you?”

“A crate of beer,” he laughs. “I don’t even drink beer. He said that it seemed like the sort of thing you get another student for their birthday. He’s like that.”

“At least you can hand them out at parties.”

“That’s true.”

“Hey, give me a second.” The sound of the phone being placed down clicks through the speaker, followed by the sounds of Sojeong attending to a customer. He pulls his phone away from his ear again and checks his notifications. Nothing new. He knows for a fact that it’s currently midday in California.

He bites his lip as tears suddenly threaten to fall again. Sojeong picks up the phone. “You know, it’s usually quiet for long stretches during these shifts. That was bad timing.”

“I haven’t heard from Hansol, you know,” he blurts out. “And I’m mad at him for it. I’m so mad, and so upset, and I don’t know what to do about it. This whole thing between us should’ve been over months ago, and I was hoping that today would be the breaking point, but I haven’t heard from him at all.”

“You haven’t?”

“No. I’m sick of this. I miss him so much, Noona.”

“I know.”

“We just need to talk. When I’m back for Lunar New Year next week, I’ll go and see him in person. Hopefully we can get over all this and start fresh.”

“Oh, Seungkwan,” Sojeong sighs.

“What?”

“Just call him already.”

“No. It’s better to see him in person.”

“You won’t see him in person over the break. Mr. Chwe already went to America and came back. The American schools don’t break up in January, so their family celebrated early in Florida.”

“How do you know that?”

“Ma invited him over to celebrate with us for the New Year weekend, since he’ll be on his own.”

There’s a pause as he swallows around the lump in his throat. “Hansol’s not coming back?”

“I don’t think he’ll be back in Korea until the summer.”

His eyes close as the tears finally spill over. “Oh.”

“Please call him. Holding out on each other like this is no good for you.”

“Noona, I’ve gotta go. I’m gonna… I’m going to bed,” he says, trying to hide the shake in his voice, but it’s painfully obvious that he’s on the verge of tears.

“Oh, Kwan…” she sighs. “Don’t make this harder for yourself, okay?”

“Okay. Goodnight, Noona.”

“Goodnight. Sleep well.”

He hangs up, throwing his phone onto the bed and wiping his eyes angrily. Burying his face into his pillow, he finally sobs—loud and ugly, and so, so alone.

-

2013.6.26 / Seongnam / Hansol

Seungkwan’s front door takes some coaxing to open—both from the outside and the inside, it can be a little old and difficult to wrestle with, so they stand together and watch it rattle for half a minute before Seungkwan manages to open it and step through. He smiles up and them, triumphant, but falters upon seeing Hansol standing there, waiting for him.

“You ready?” Seokmin asks.

Seungkwan doesn’t answer, looking Hansol up and down and frowning. “You’re here? You’re coming with us?”

“Yeah.”

“I thought it was date night?”

He shrugs. “We called it off.”

“Date night with Luda?” Seokmin asks. “Oh, I didn’t realise! Will you be doing it another day?”

“No, we called it all off. Come on, or we’ll be late,” he says, and Seungkwan stares at him before turning to put on his shoes.

“What do you mean, the whole thing? You’re dating without having dates?”

“No,” he says, exasperated. “We broke up, I guess. But that sounds bad. We just decided not to date anymore.”

“What? Hansol!” Seokmin looks positively devastated. “What happened?”

“It wasn’t bad, I promise. It was okay. I would rather be her friend, and she feels the same. We’re going to hang out still, but not as dates.”

They walk to the elevator together and ride to the bottom floor. Seungkwan’s apartment is more central to the city than Seokmin or Hansol’s houses are, so it’s a great meeting place for a day on the town, only a short walk from Seongnam’s best cinema.

“Isn’t that kind of weird? How have you been dating for so long and only just decided you don’t like each other?” Seungkwan asks.

He shrugs. “We’ve been figuring things out. I can’t talk for Luda, but dating her kind of opened my eyes to the sort of ways I’m interested in people, you know? Sometimes it’s hard to tell the difference between someone you enjoy being around, and someone you’re, like, romantically interested in.”

“It’s not that hard,” Seungkwan mutters.

“Wait, are you interested in someone else?” Seokmin asks.

“No, it’s not that. I don’t think I want to date again anytime soon. I don’t like all the expectations to do certain things just because you’re dating. I want to do these things because I want to, not because I feel like I need to, you know?”

“Like date night?”

“Yeah. Like date night. Too formal.”

“So if a cute girl walked up to you right now and asked you out on a date, you’d say no?”

“If I didn’t know them?”

“Yeah.”

“I’d probably go on one date, because that’s a different thing to dating. You can go on dates with anyone just to have fun.”

“Even guys?” Seokmin asks.

“Yeah, sure. Why not?”

“Wait, seriously?” Seungkwan says.

“Yeah. I’m open to it.” He says it as casually as he can, but his heart is picking up pace—he’s never told anyone he’s interested in dating guys before, and it’s kind of a big deal for him.

“Oh, cool,” Seokmin says, smiling to himself.

He breathes out. Cool. “Asking for a reason, Hyung?” he grins, and Seokmin laughs easily.

“You wish!”

“That would be too weird,” he laughs. “I couldn’t imagine dating you. I’ve known you since you were too scared to go to the toilet alone.”

“Hey! That’s normal for a kid!”

“Not for an eight-year-old!”

They arrive at the cinema entrance, pushing through the glass doors together. “Speaking of, I really need to pee. On my own! Will you guys get my ticket for me?”

“Sure. Call us if you get scared of the bathroom!”

“No need to worry! I’m a big boy now!” he says, backing away from them and almost knocking into a family on the way. He laughs as Seokmin disappears around the corner, and he and Seungkwan move into the ticket queue.

Comfortable quiet rests between them for a minute, until Seungkwan speaks up again.

“Was there any other reason you broke up with Luda?”

Hansol looks over at him. “Hmm?”

Seungkwan bites the inside of his mouth, looking away. “You’re allowed to date, you know, and have friends other than us. Even if we have limited time with Hyung, he wouldn’t want you to put your life on hold for him.”

He gives him a lopsided smile. Seungkwan always been more perceptive than he gives him credit for. “That was a small part of the reason. I know we hang out a lot together, but I still feel like I’m missing out when I’m not with you guys, and sometimes I’d rather hang out with you than feel obligated to see her. It wasn’t the full reason, though. Really. We decided on it together.”

Seungkwan nods. “I’m a bit of a hypocrite about that. I’d drop anything for him, too. But I just wanted to make sure.”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

Seokmin is in good spirits when they enter the movie screen together, though Seungkwan remains subdued. Talking about their limited time together always takes down his mood, and it’s rare for him to be the one to bring it up.

“Are you guys excited? We could do this loads more after the school year finishes, you know. We could even buy one of those monthly passes!”

“Don’t you have to subscribe to them for a year, or something? There’s no way we’d make enough use out of them during the next exam season. It’s probably cheaper to buy tickets individually.”

“That’s true. I might buy one anyway. My parents are going to be taking more time off work soon, and we’re planning on doing loads of things like this together. And I… well. I’m actually going to drop out of school.”

Seungkwan leans forward at that, looking around Hansol, who also turns his head to look at Seokmin. “What?”

“Yeah. After this school year ends…” The first commercial starts up on screen, and Seokmin takes the excuse to look up at that instead. “There’s no point in me going to school anymore, y’know? The long days make me tired, and it’s not like graduating is going to fix my health.”

“Oh,” Seungkwan says.

Seokmin takes a sip of his drink. Hansol looks up at the screen too, processing the new information. No more Seokmin in school.

“Literature is going to be way more boring,” Seungkwan says quietly.

“I know,” Seokmin says, smile sadder now. “I’m going to miss that class, but I think it would be better not to have all the work. I can spend more time on all the new things I want to try, and learn about the stuff I’m actually interested in. My mom is going to teach me how to knit! And I’ll spend more time with my extended family, and I’ll be free to do fun things with you guys whenever you want. I’ll make new friends online. I’m excited for it. It’s a good thing.”

“That sounds fun,” he says. “Really. I’m happy for you.”

Seokmin’s eyes shine at him. They both look over at Seungkwan, who looks right back at them.

He nods. “I get it. I’ll miss you, though.”

“I’ll see you loads,” Seokmin says. “You won’t even notice a difference.”

They settle in to watch the movie, after that, instead of calling him out on the lie.

-

2017.1.16 / Los Angeles / Hansol

He’s dragged from sleep by the persistent vibration of his phone, rattling the mattress beneath him from somewhere deep within his sheets. Groaning, he reaches around for it, patting in the general direction of the noise. Mom knows to call late, and judging by the amount of sunlight filtering through his eyelids right now, it must be the middle of the day. Anyone calling him at this time is not worth picking up for.

He lifts his head from the pillow. Where’s the damned phone? He lifts the sheets, lifts the pillow— there it is. As he declines, he sees the name lighting up the screen through bleary vision.

The sight suddenly makes him much more awake. Eyes wide, he blinks down at the now silent phone.

Did he just reject a call from Seungkwan?

He scrambles to unlock it, swipes through—and there it is, missed call from Seungkwan, 30 seconds ago. Rubs his eyes and looks at the notification again. Seungkwan really called him? Drags down his screen to look at his other notifications—no texts, but he sees the date, and, shit, of course. It’s his birthday today.

He taps on the log to call him back. Puts the phone to his ear, heart in his throat.

The line clicks.

“Chwe Hansol!” Seungkwan’s voice is a voluminous force, even through a phone line, and especially after six months of not hearing it. “Did you just hang up on me on my birthday?”

“Uhh…” He can’t quite believe this is happening.

“I’m furious! I hope you know that I’m so angry with you! You don’t call me, you don’t even message—you’re not coming back for New Year, and you don’t even try to let me know! You know what? I was so ready to be over this, to hear from you and talk things out, and once we’d be back in Seongnam everything would be fine—but what was I expecting from someone who never even said goodbye before he left for—America! You’re in America, I know it’s the middle of the day there, you’ve got no fucking excuse—”

“Seungkwan—”

“—and I’m so angry, Hansol, about everything. I’m so mad at you. But I miss you so much, and I don’t want to be angry anymore, and I—I wanted to say sorry too, because I was the one that started all this, and it was so stupid. And I miss you. But you didn’t even try to reach out to me on my birthday. Nothing. So just what do you have to say for yourself, huh?”

Though his voice is raised, he doesn’t sound as angry as he says he is—more than anything, he sounds like he’s on the verge of tears, voice rough and strained.

He doesn’t know where to begin with all of this, so abruptly brought upon him first thing in the morning. So instead of an apology, what comes out of his mouth is,

“You didn’t get my package?”

There’s a pause on the other end of the line. “Your what?”

“I did wish you a happy birthday. I didn’t forget. Maybe it got delayed in the post, but I promise I sent off something last week.”

There’s movement on the other end. “A…package? Brown with white lettering?”

“Yeah! That’s it.”

Seungkwan’s voice is suddenly much smaller. “Oh. I thought it was the textbooks I ordered. It’s here, I just haven’t opened it yet.”

“Open it,” he says, laying back down on the bed. “Put me on speaker.”

More movement follows on Seungkwan’s end, then some rustling and ripping. He’s getting into the package quickly, and it makes Hansol’s nerves hit him all over again, the same way he’d felt when he’d been preparing the package for him. He waits quietly, knowing exactly what he’s looking through right now.

He’d done his best to pick up the sort of things that Seungkwan likes, as well as things that are hard to get in Korea. There’s a couple of packets of American candy, the type that suit his taste, chewy with fruit flavourings. A small bottle of lotion from an expensive brand. Some incense sticks, lavender scented. A bottle opener shaped like brown bear, because it had reminded Hansol of him. A fragrance he’d been obsessed with a few years ago. A ring for his pinkie finger, plain, in the style that he likes.

Seungkwan’s breathing comes down the line again. “You sent this for me?”

“Do you know another Boo Seungkwan?”

“Shut up,” he says, but his heart isn’t in it. He sounds like he’s crying, actually. “I love you. Let’s not fight again.”

He takes those words in and holds them tight before Seungkwan can take them back. After all this time, he can still say something like that so easily. Maybe, then, just maybe—the two of them will still be alright.

“I love you too. Am I forgiven?”

“Of course. Thank you for the package.”

“Couldn’t miss your birthday. I’m not that bad.”

“I can’t believe you sent me that. When did you get so thoughtful?”

“California, I guess. And six months of no contact.”

“Oh, Hansol. I can’t believe you’re not coming back for New Year. I was so anxious to see you.”

“I don’t think I’ll be back home until the summer, now. I’m sorry.”

“I heard,” Seungkwan says, miserably. “How am I supposed to last that long?”

“You’ve been doing okay so far.”

He laughs. “Believe me, that’s not even slightly true.”

He glances over at the calendar on the wall. “You know what, though?”

“What?”

“If you need a break, you could always come here for a while. We could see California together.”

“Seriously?”

He runs a hand through his hair, sitting up again. The realisation that that there’s nothing he wants more than to see California with Seungkwan washes over him so strongly it makes him breathless. “If you want to, yeah. It’s up to you. I’d split the flight costs with you.”

There’s silence on the other end for a few beats. He opens his mouth, then closes it again. Opens it once more. Fuck it. His therapist told him to be communicative with his feelings.

“I’ve missed you too, you know.”

A soft breath. “Hansol….”

He waits. Seungkwan is quiet for a few more seconds, and then he laughs, softly.

“You know what? Let’s do it. We deserve a holiday.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter 3 will hopefully be up by the end of the week!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's the [playlist](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL0ACAj6h3K86kKpX_G0CHlwQ9eziibhV1) for this chapter
> 
> enjoy!

2017.2.21 / Los Angeles / Hansol

For the entire day before Seungkwan’s flight arrives, Hansol cleans. He cleans the kitchen, washes the dishes, and restocks his cupboards. He cleans his bedroom from top to bottom for the first time since coming to L.A., books finally finding homes on his shelves, never-used business textbooks and lightly used Composing 101 sat side by side. He wipes down his surfaces, pulls up the blind and throws open the window, and even scrubs at the strange looking mark under the desk. The never-unpacked clothes sitting in the bottom of his suitcase are finally hung up in the wardrobe. The bedsheets are changed, the windows washed, clothes washed. He even cleans their shared bathroom, wipes away the grime, scrubs down the shared toilet. When Sakura passes him working there, the sight makes her double back down the corridor, staring at him like she’s witnessing a miracle.

He finishes cleaning in good time before he has to leave for the airport, but still almost manages to miss his bus, too indecisive in picking a decent outfit from his wardrobe. In hindsight, it’s totally ridiculous. Since when has he ever tried to dress well for Seungkwan?

But when he’s waiting in arrivals, standing by other people anxiously waiting for friends or family or long-distance lovers, he does feel nervous. Distance makes the heart grow fonder, but the long silence between them makes him wonder how different things will be when they come face to face again. They will be different, and he know that’s inevitable with the way their lives have changed so much recently. But he hopes it’s a good different, and not an awkward one.

With every surge of new arrivals, he scans the faces in the crowd, looking for the most important one. When Seungkwan finally comes through the gate, Hansol almost looks right over him, has to look back again, refocus. Sure enough, there he is, pulling along a neat suitcase and looking around with curious eyes. He’s blonde, now, and wearing a pink bomber jacket Hansol doesn’t recognise. His fingers are curled in around the handle of his rucksack, a lifelong nervous habit.

Hansol can’t help but smile to himself, moving around the pickup railing to get to Seungkwan before he can walk in the wrong direction.

“Seungkwan!” he calls, and the other boy turns around, meets his eyes.

When his face relaxes into a smile, one that grows and catches the corners of his eyes, Hansol wonders how he’s gone this long without seeing his best friend. Why the hell were they fighting in the first place?

Seungkwan weaves between people to reach him, face bright, suitcase rolling along behind him. He does the same, and when they meet in the middle of the airport, it’s easy to stop there and come into a firm hug. Seungkwan wraps his arms around him, and he responds in kind, holding him tight.

“Hansol,” Seungkwan says into his neck, voice rumbling through his skin. “Oh, God, I’ve missed you. I’m finally here!”

They’ve been on tentative talking terms ever since his birthday, texting again, the odd phone call, but neither of them are very good at overcoming the long distance. Being here in person is so much better. It feels like he finally has his friend back.

“I’ve missed you too,” he says, murmuring into his hair. He squeezes him once before letting go, leaning out to look at him again. “I’m really glad you’ve come. The blonde looks really good, by the way.”

“You think?” he says, touching his hair lightly. “I wasn’t sure.”

“No, I really like it. It suits you.”

“Thanks,” Seungkwan says, turning away to hide his pleased smile. “Do you want to lead the way?”

“I thought we’d get a cab back. The bus ride here was so slow.”

“Oh, you would not believe the hold up I had back there. The lady at border control kept me there for ages, though I didn’t understand half of what she was asking me.”

“Couldn’t you request a translator?”

“I don’t know. It’s not like I know how to ask for one in English, is it? I think she was trying to ask me where I was staying, but when I said UCLA she started saying something about my visa. It was a nightmare.”

He flags down a cab, asking the driver to take them back to campus. When she agrees, he picks up Seungkwan’s suitcase and packs it in the trunk before they slide into the backseat together. Once their seatbelts are on, something nudges his hand—it’s Seungkwan, loosely linking their fingers together and smiling to himself. He goes easily, not minding the contact.

Their driver looks at them in the rear-view mirror, eyes kind. “Are you boys students at UCLA?”

Seungkwan looks up at him, then to their driver. “No! I’m…visiting?” He looks to Hansol, unsure of his English.

“Yeah, that’s right,” he says in Korean, before switching to English for their driver. “He’s here to visit me at college. We haven’t seen each other in a while.”

“That’s real sweet. You guys long-distance?”

“Yeah, he’s come from Korea.”

“That’s just great, isn’t it?” she says, turning in her seat to look at them properly when they hit the inevitable standstill of LA traffic. “I love that. Love is love, right? I’m glad you guys get to see each other though you live so far apart. Are you from LA?”

It catches up on him, then—the implication of _long-distance_ , _love is love_ , her eyes on their linked hands. Ah.

“Um, no,” he says, voice rising a pitch. “I’m from Korea too, actually. I’m just here for school.”

“Well, how about that,” she says. “Are you enjoying your studies?”

“It’s been tough…” he admits, and she laughs.

“Right, you don’t want to talk about that. Go back to your boyfriend, darlin’. I’ll be quiet, don’t mind me.”

They lapse into silence. He sits there and sweats for a half a minute.

“What did she ask you?” Seungkwan asks, and Hansol turns his head too fast.

“Hm? Oh, just about school. Korea. You know.”

He doesn’t want to let go of Seungkwan’s hand no matter how much he’s sweating, so he continues to sit there in a mild internal panic, hoping she won’t ask any more questions. He’s half-worried Seungkwan understands more English than he lets on, but he doesn’t say anything more about it, happy to watch the streets pass by instead. Eventually, the quiet is broken when he turns to Hansol and says,

“Oh, I have your birthday present in here.” Pulling his backpack up from between his feet and unzipping it swiftly, he roots around inside, making something rustle.

“You didn’t have to bring me anything…”

“You gave me a great birthday gift for the first time in years. Of course I had to get you something back! It’s not as good as yours, but you kind of inspired me.”

He pulls out a big plastic bag and hands it over to him. It’s full to the brim with snacks—the true Korean stuff, the stuff that’s hard to buy even in the Korean stores here. Honey and apple twists, matdongsang, the Korean branded Cheetos that taste way better than the bland American stuff. Exactly the sort of food he used to bring over for movie nights, or he that and Seokmin would pick out together for their joint birthday parties. Snacks like these are the foods he’s been missing the most from Korea, though he’s never said it out loud.

Seungkwan is already watching him when he looks up. “Like I said, it’s not all that special. But you have simple tastes.”

“You’re right,” he grins. “Thanks.”

“No problem. Happy belated birthday.”

When they make it to campus, the driver charges them less than he’d expected, winking at him as he slides out of the car.

“Have fun, boys!”

“Thank you!” Seungkwan calls back, stepping onto the curb with his suitcase and backpack in each hand.

Hansol steps back with him. “Yeah, thanks for the ride.”

As the car pulls away, she salutes to them out of the open window.

“She was nice,” Seungkwan remarks, waving happily as the cab disappears down the road.

-

2014.2.18 / Seongnam / Hansol

Having a shared birthday with your best friend is kind of amazing; there’s double the fun at the party, but he doesn’t have to be the centre of attention the whole day, and it’s a good excuse to get all his favourite people together in one place. Their parents have grown close over the years of their friendship, so it made an easy tradition; every year, the parents and siblings of their three families gather in the Lee household to play games, eat snacks, and watch a movie at the end of the night. Every year, it’s the best birthday he could wish for. And every year, Seungkwan gets competitive with his sisters at charades.

“You can’t use items in the room to support your performance!” he complains, as Jinseol points at a photo hung on the wall.

“I’m not using anything but common sense!” She continues to mime a cameraman ushering people into frame.

“Family portrait!” his dad calls, and she swiftly moves onto the next term.

“Can someone tell her she’s cheating?” Seungkwan says, but everyone is watching as Jinseol starts to act out digging.

He can see Seungkwan looking his way, but he avoids his eye. He’s way more scared of Jinseol than of him.

“Time up!” Mrs. Lee calls. “You got six!”

“Not bad,” Jinseol says, patting Hansol’s shoulder. “You’re up, birthday boy.”

He shifts from the sofa to stand at the front of the room. “Ah, I’m not very good at this,” he says, picking the first term from the box and waiting for the timer to start.

“We know. We play this with you every year, and somehow you never get better,” Seungkwan says.

He pulls a face at him. Though he’s bad at it, he doesn’t mind charades that much. It’s a game his mom can join in easily enough, and he does like including her when possible.

“Go!”

First word: _fruit_. He mimes a bowl, then picking something out, taking a bite.

“Popcorn!” Seokmin shouts.

“Sushi?” Sojeong says.

Too vague. He tries peeling an invisible banana.

“Banana!” Seungkwan says, quicker than anyone, but it’s Sofia that gets it right.

“Fruit!”

He points at her, then picks up the next word.

 _Sick_.

He glances at Seokmin, then immediately regrets it, switching eye contact to Seungkwan. Panic floods him for a second, making him freeze, too annoyed with himself to follow through with the act.

“Just mime anything,” his dad urges.

He mimes someone throwing up.

“Illness?” his mom says.

“Sick!” Jinseol shouts, and he points, eager to move onto the next word.

Mario. Great, Seokmin will know this. He mimes a hat, a moustache, and jumps to hit an imaginary block above him.

“Boxer!”

“Climbing!”

“Superhero?”

He looks at Seokmin again, but his eyes have glazed over. He’s not really watching him.

He tries to mime running and jumping in place.

“Athlete!”

“Hurdles?”

“What the hell is this…”

“Time! You got two. What was the last one?”

“Mario,” he says, looking at Seokmin, who blinks up at him. A thin smile spreads across his face quickly.

“Of course! You did well, Hansol. I should’ve known.”

“That means that…” Mrs. Lee looks at her points sheet. “I believe Jinseol wins the game by one point—”

“Yes!” Jinseol stands and begins to dance in Seungkwan’s face, basking in her victory. “I told you I’d be the overall champion!”

“You only win because you cheat,” Seungkwan says, standing to leave his bitter defeat behind. “Will someone start the movie to shut her up already?”

He’s learned at this point that asking someone to start the movie is a code for _I’m getting the cake, keep the birthday boys in the room._ He hasn’t told them that he’s figured that part out. He kind of likes the warning.

“Right! What was it that you guys wanted to watch?” Mr. Lee asks, though he knows perfectly well what they’d chosen earlier that day.

There’s a half-beat where neither of them reply. He’d been expecting Seokmin to respond to his dad, but instead he’s staring at the wall, absent from the conversation.

“Man of Steel,” he supplies.

“Ah, of course. I heard it was good, but I haven’t seen it yet.”

“We saw it at the cinema when it was released, and we liked it. Thought it was worth watching again.”

“Sounds fun,” Sojeong says, genial, though he knows the Boo household rarely watch that sort of thing.

The lights in the room go out, and Ma leads them into an enthusiastic round of _Happy Birthday_ as Seungkwan walks back in with the cake. He scoots between the two sofas to kneel on the floor by them, settling there until _Happy Birthday_ comes to an end. Then he holds the cake out to them both, tiny flames on the two candles flickering.

“Don’t forget to make a wish,” he says.

Seokmin leans over the cake and closes his eyes, mouth moving in silent words. Hansol waits patiently until he opens them again, wish complete, then smiles at him. Together, they blow out a candle each. The reflections of the flames die out in Seokmin’s shining eyes.

“Happy Birthday,” Seungkwan says.

Their family members follow up with a cheery applause, and the cake is cut under dim lighting as the opening credits play. They each take a slice, settling in to watch the movie begin.

It’s still a good movie, but he’d overestimated its capability to stand up to a second viewing. Some thirty minutes in he’s zoning out of the repetitive action to pay attention to his much louder thoughts; namely, the nagging concern in the back of his mind that he’d upset Seokmin during charades. Seokmin has been a little quieter than usual all day, though, when they’d been opening gifts and playing other games through the afternoon too. It hasn’t only been this evening. Right?

Looking around, he can’t actually find Seokmin in the room. He’d been sat on the floor before, and he must have moved to see the TV, but he doesn’t seem to be anywhere. There is an empty seat beside Sofia, though, occupied by a half-eaten piece of cake.

When the movie is playing through an intense action sequence, he quietly slips away from the living room, moving through the dark house towards Seokmin’s bedroom. Halfway down the hallway, he spots a sliver of light coming from under the bathroom door.

He stops outside and tries the handle. It’s open, so he pushes the door slightly, speaking through the gap without looking in. “Can I come in?”

There’s silence for a few seconds. He goes to open it wider to see if anyone’s in there, before Seokmin says,

“Yeah. Okay.”

So he steps inside, closing the door behind him.

Seokmin isn’t sat on the toilet, but beside it, back against the wall and hands on his stomach.

“Shouldn’t have had the cake,” he murmurs. “It messes with my digestion.”

“Are you okay?” Hansol asks, crouching down next to him. “Do you need any medication for that?”

Seokmin doesn’t answer, eyes unfocused, watching the wall. His weak smile fades, bottom lip wobbling instead. “Don’t worry about it.”

“I don’t mind getting something for you. A painkiller?”

A tear starts to seep from Seokmin’s eye, big and slow, rolling down his cheek. He still doesn’t look at Hansol. “It hurts.”

“Shall I get your mom?”

He shakes his head, and the tears start to fall faster. He sniffs, wipes his nose on his sleeve, and curls further into the wall. “It’s not just that. Everything hurts. I hate it. I hate being sick, Hansol.”

He’s at a loss. He’s never seen Seokmin like this before. “I know.”

“I hate that it had to be me. I don’t want it.” He digs at his eyes with the heel of his palms, taking in shaking breaths. “I don’t want to live like this. But I don’t want to die.”

Hansol shuffles forwards on his knees to hug him, arms tentatively reaching around his shoulders in an embrace. Seokmin’s hands go up to grasp the back of his shirt, and he leans his head into Hansol’s shoulder, and cries.

They sit there for a while, on the bathroom floor. He doesn’t mind. At they’re safe here, for a little while longer—at least he can rub Seokmin’s back and do his best to hold him close.

“I’m sorry for ruining your birthday,” Seokmin mumbles when his sobs have calmed, and he’s simply warm and lax and tear-stained against him.

“You didn’t ruin anything. I’m here to be with you, good or bad day. I’m sorry it’s been a sucky birthday for you.”

Seokmin pulls out of the hug. “Bad days happen. Can’t be helped. Turning a year older doesn’t have the same magic for me anymore.”

“Still. Wish I could do something for you.”

Seokmin shakes his head, giving him a wan smile. “You’ve done everything for me. You don’t have to worry about that.”

“Is there anything you need from me right now?”

“Um… don’t tell my mom about this?”

“Okay. Are you coming back to finish the movie?”

“I will,” he promises, wiping his face of residual tears. “I really do need to use the toilet first.”

They both stand, and Hansol opens the door again. The movie is still playing down the hall. No one has moved.

“Hey,” he says, turning back. “What did you wish for? Over the cake?”

Seokmin’s smile almost reaches his eyes. “If I tell you that, it won’t come true.”

Hansol nods, giving him a small smile in return, before leaving him alone in the bathroom.

-

2017.2.22 / Los Angeles / Seungkwan

He feels warm.

He calls out, but no one else seems to be home. He’s in Seokmin’s bedroom, but he doesn’t want to be here on his own, so he turns to leave. When he walks through the rest of his house, his voice echoes around the rooms. The place looks old and unused, mould growing on the surfaces.

Someone is home. Mrs. Lee is sitting on a familiar sofa, covered in cobwebs.

“Where’s Seokmin?” he asks her. “I came to hang out.”

“Seungkwan,” Hansol’s voice says. “Wake up.”

He’s so warm. Then he’s back in Seokmin’s bedroom, and Seokmin is here, now. The dust is everywhere.

“Hey! You came!” His smile is blindingly bright, delighted to see Seungkwan.

“You’re here?”

“Seungkwan,” Hansol says again. “It’s just a dream. Wake up, come on.”

He takes a deep breath in, and the house distorts, and there’s light coming in through the window. When he opens his eyes properly, the whole room is light. He finds himself trapped between the bedsheets and Hansol, who’s propped up on one elbow to look down at him. Their proximity has overheated Seungkwan, his cheeks feeling distinctly warm and wet.

“It was a dream,” Hansol says again, steady hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay.”

He realises he’s crying, gasping for breath. Another nightmare chasing him into real life.

Hansol settles down again, wrapping his arms around him. He buries his face in Hansol’s soft sleep shirt and clings to the warmth of his body, desperate for the comfort.

“You’re okay,” he murmurs again, rubbing his back in a soothing, regular pattern.

He comes back from it quickly, far quicker than he would on his own. Usually, he has to wake himself up, turn on the lights, hope that it’s day outside so he can open the blinds. Watch people passing outside his dorm, or listen to some calming music. Anything distracting. Now, though, he settles against Hansol, and feels safe. Lying by him in this yellow-lit California bedroom somehow makes the nightmare shrink away.

Even when he’s caught his breath and slowed his tears, he stays lying against Hansol. He can’t remember the last time he felt this calm. He’s still too hot, laying against his body heat in the sun-baked room, but he can’t bring himself to pull away.

It’s Hansol who breaks the quiet. “Do you get those a lot?”

He hums. “I dream all the time, these days. It’s that or a fitful sleep. I don’t usually remember the nightmares, but they still make it harder to sleep.”

Hansol’s hand continues to lazily stroke the back of his shirt. Now that he’s properly awake, the touch feels more electric, warming him from within.

“I have the opposite problem. I sleep for too long, and at all the wrong times. Sometimes I wake up after sleeping for twelve hours, and I’m so hungry. But I’m too tired to get out of bed. So I go back to sleep for another six.”

Seungkwan hits his arm. “You should eat properly. Give me those hours instead.”

“I think I did, last night. We both slept for over ten hours.”

He lifts his head, and it finds him so close to Hansol’s face, hair soft and eyes still half-closed. “Really?”

“Yeah. It’s nearly midday.”

“I haven’t slept for that long in… well. I can’t remember.” He rests his head back on the pillow. “Must be the jetlag.”

“Or maybe I have a magic touch,” Hansol grins.

He rolls his eyes, trying not to smile. “It’s definitely the jetlag.”

“Do you want to go out today? We can spend the day in bed if you’re tired,” Hansol says, pulling his arms away to stretch them out, groaning.

Seungkwan rolls away from him to sit up. As nice as that sounds, he’s not sure he can handle that much intimacy with Hansol on day 1. Or any day.

“Let’s go out. I want to see as much of California as I can.”

“You want to see California?”

“Of course! Do you think I came all this way to see you?”

“I can dream, can’t I?” Hansol says, slipping out of the bed, sleep-rumpled and soft. It’s hard to take his eyes away.

He dresses quickly while Hansol is in the bathroom, then slips out of the bedroom to make them both rice for breakfast. After encouraging Hansol to eat his fill, the two of them set off into the city.

It doesn’t take them long to find a mall, bustling and busy and endlessly interesting in its foreignness. It has three floors of marble walkways, and plenty of stalls and stores lining the halls that neither of them have heard of before.

“Haven’t you been here before?” he asks, when Hansol points out another shop he wants to investigate.

“I don’t really come out shopping.”

“Even when it’s so close to your place?”

He shrugs. “I haven’t been out much.”

“Then what did you want to come to California for?”

“I guess I thought that California would be different. Or maybe that I would be different, once I got here.”

He doesn’t really get that. University has been a different experience, for him, and it’s made him a different person too. He doesn’t question it, though, just follows Hansol into the game store, and doesn’t complain when they linger.

They end up in a sports store quickly enough when he spots their display of branded sports balls in the window, exactly the type he’s been looking out for. The volleyball society had better get ready to pay his bills.

“Oh, look at these, they’re so much cheaper here than at home! This is amazing! I didn’t even think about looking for one in America…"

“What’s the difference?” Hansol asks, watching him delightedly spin one of the balls in his hand.

“What?”

“Can’t you buy any ball?”

“This is the brand they play with at the V-League. You think a cheap ball from a supermarket is going to be the same as something like this?”

Hansol shrugs. “How different can it be?”

“This is why you’re not allowed to talk about volleyball,” he says. It’s meant to tease, and they both know it, but it falls flat with the implication that comes with it. _This is why I talk about volleyball with Seokmin._

They push past it. “Either way, I have a feeling you’re not fitting that in your suitcase.”

“Oh my god,” he says. Something on the far shelves has just caught his eye. “They sell the professional nets here, too.”

“You’re definitely not fitting that in your suitcase.”

“Can you ask them if they do international shipping?”

“How is that any different from ordering it from Korea?”

“Just ask!”

Hansol asks. They don’t ship abroad. He abandons the net with a heavy heart, but purchases a ball with great enthusiasm. The cashier lady laughs at him as he thanks her four times over.

“I’m not bringing that back for you in the summer, if that’s your plan.”

“You don’t have to. My rucksack was full of your birthday snacks. I can make it fit in the free space.”

They stop for ice cream at one of the stalls, and it makes him miss the sun again, tired of the air-conditioned walkways.

When he says as much, Hansol agrees. “Let’s go to the beach, then.”

“You’re close to the beach?”

“Have you never heard of Long Beach?”

“I thought it was further down!”

“It is, but you wouldn’t believe how close we are to Santa Monica Pier.”

He’s right—they don’t have to walk far for the bay to come into view, bright beach and glistening blue sea stretching beyond it. It’s busier out here, tourists and travellers and kids on skateboards crowding the pier, but he doesn’t mind. The people give it life, make him feel like a part of a living, breathing city.

“Let’s go onto the sand!” he exclaims, pointing down at the beach. “Can we? I haven’t been on a beach in so long, seriously!”

“Sure. Shall we get some flip flips for the journey?”

Hansol buys them some cheap flip flips from a vendor before they step out onto the sand. Seungkwan puts his socks and shoes in his shopping bag, and Hansol holds onto his with his left hand, leaving the right free. The sand feels warm between his toes, and Hansol’s hand feels warm in his, their fingers linking easily when Seungkwan reaches for him. They walk along the beach together like that, hands swinging between them, looking out to sea with the gulls crying high above.

After a while, they reach a quieter stretch of beach. There’s no real need for them to hold hands without the crowds here, but he holds on anyway. He likes that Hansol lets him.

“I wanted to apologise properly,” he says. Hansol stares out to sea for another few moments before focusing on him, and they continue to amble along the beach as they talk.

“You have nothing to apologise for. Seriously, let’s forget about it all. I want to move on.”

“Me too. But I still feel guilty about it. I made things harder for us both by lashing out at you.”

Hansol shakes his head, pulls Seungkwan closer. “You were in a bad place. We both were. I shouldn’t have left Korea without saying goodbye, and I should’ve communicated with you better. Ever since June, really, I should’ve been a better friend. It was just a weird time, those few months after he died. It’s still weird.”

He feels himself tense, then untense. Hansol squeezes his hand.

“I know. I had such a hard time when we weren’t talking, but I was too proud to be the first one to call. It was so stupid.”

“I was too coward to make the first move. I thought you wouldn’t want to talk to me, even if I did reach out. Because I’d gone to California anyway, when you didn’t want me to.”

He swallows his heart down. “I was so selfish about that. I was only angry because I thought that you were pulling away from me, and it was really low of me to try and make that about Hyung instead. Uni was always your choice, not mine. I hate that I made you feel like you couldn’t even call—you know I always want to hear from you—”

“I know, I know,” Hansol says. “We just went through a rough patch.”

“It was so stupid. The last thing he asked of us was that we hold onto each other, and the first thing I did was push you away.” He’s crying again, heaving breaths breaking through his words.

Hansol turns to stand in front of him and take his other hand, Seungkwan’s shopping bag hanging from his wrist. “Hey. Don’t think about that stuff, seriously. It’s in the past now, and we both acted badly. It’s not your fault.” He lets go again to wipe at his tears with the pad of his thumb. “Seokmin went through the worst thing possible, but it was hard for us too. And he couldn’t know what it would be like for us, afterwards. Besides, we’re here now, aren’t we? We just had a little break in the middle.”

He blinks back the tears and turns his head away from Hansol’s hands—his cheeks are burning up under the touch. “You say that like we’ve ever gone more than a weekend without talking to each other. I haven’t seen you in six months.”

“But everything’s the same. Only you’re blonde now.”

“I’m blonde,” he agrees. “And it’s just the two of us, and we’re university students, and we’re walking along a beach in California together. How is anything the same?”

“Well. I suppose nothing is really the same. But you’re here, at least. That’s something.”

“It is. I’m here.” He takes Hansol’s hand again, and pulls it gently, encouraging him to continue walking. “And you’re here with me.”

“Exactly,” Hansol says. “We’ll get by, right?”

“Yeah,” he smiles, kicking up sand. “I think so.”

-

2014.10.12 / Seongnam / Seungkwan

His singing lesson runs late that day, so by the time he gets released from school he’s absolutely starving, having skipped lunch to go to a catch-up class. He starts running to Hansol’s house as soon as he’s let out, purely out of food-motivated need, but switches to a walk after a few minutes, because that’s way too much effort.

It’s Sofia who opens the door for him, offering out a fist bump that he gladly returns. “You’re just in time for dinner,” she says, turning to run back into the kitchen.

“I thought you wouldn’t make it,” Hansol’s voice calls from further in. “Did you get held up?”

He kicks off his shoes and closes the door behind him. “Mr. Yang kept me there for ages, practising this one run until I got it right. Ma told me not to complain about lessons running late anymore, since it’s free overtime, but I feel like I’m starving to death over here.”

“In that case, I hope you like stir-fry,” Mr. Chwe says, as Seungkwan enters the main room. He watches the bowls of food being placed on the table and groans, his stomach rumbling.

“It’s perfect,” he says, walking further into the house to drop off his bag and coat in Hansol’s room. “Is Seokmin not here yet?”

“He’s not coming,” Hansol says. “He’s sick.”

He walks back through. “Sick? Another infection?”

“Yeah. He can’t come.”

His heart sinks as he sits at the kitchen table. Every time Seokmin’s health dips, it’s a terrifying thing. They never know how bad it could get, how close he might be to the end. The thought of it buries him completely, sometimes.

“Soda?” Mrs. Chwe offers.

“Thank you,” he says in English, taking the can from her and popping the tab. Sofia asks for something in English, and the five of them edge around the shared knowledge that Seokmin could die any day. They talk about their days and he scarfs down his food, and when they’re sated and full, he and Hansol retreat to the bedroom to work on some homework.

“I don’t understand what hydrocarbons are,” he complains, laying out on Hansol’s floor. The amount of mess he had to push aside to clear a space there is concerning. “I’m sure he didn’t teach us about any of this.”

“I was hoping you’d know, to be honest. Aren’t they a type of compound?”

“A compound of what?”

“A chemical compound?”

“Urgh.” He turns onto his back. “I really know nothing.”

“Did you want to work on the English homework instead?”

“Only if you’ll fill in the answers for me.”

“How will you learn if I do that?”

“Why would I ever need to speak English when I can make you do it for me?”

“What, you’re going to drag me around when you’re thirty-five and you suddenly need English in your job?”

“Yes,” he says, rolling over again to face him. “Why do you have a keyboard in your room? I didn’t know you played piano.”

“Oh.” He watches with fascination as Hansol’s cheeks turn faintly pink. “I’ve been teaching myself.”

“Really? For how long?”

“A few months,” he shrugs. “It’s Dad’s, actually, but he told me to take it to my room when I started using it way more than him.”

“You play that much?”

“He just never uses it, to be honest.”

“Will you play me something?”

He makes an uneasy noise in the back of his throat. “I’m not very good.”

“That’s okay. Just play anything. I can’t believe you’ve been keeping this a secret.”

“It’s not a secret. It’s just not that important.”

“Of course it’s important! I didn’t even know music was your thing, but you’re so interested in it that you’re teaching yourself piano! It’s cool!”

Hansol scratches the back of his head. Seungkwan watches, waits, and sees the exact moment he gives in—it’s when he sighs, then stands, stepping over Seungkwan to get to the keyboard. He settles into the low chair in front of it, and his fingers splay over the keys.

There’s a long pause as he works himself up to it. Seungkwan stays quiet, watching him from behind, wondering if he’d been embarrassed to tell them about this. Maybe Seokmin already knows. He hopes Hansol doesn’t feel like that about showing Seungkwan his interests.

When he finally starts to play, it’s something smooth and clean, clearly well practised. He doesn’t recognise the tune, and it’s not the most complicated melody in the world, but it’s pretty, a light theme that encourages him to close his eyes and listen. He imagines Seokmin is there with them, listening too. He’ll have to hear it next time.

When it comes to an end, he opens his eyes and sits up, looking over at him. Hansol twists in his seat to look back.

“You’re good,” he says. “That was really nice.”

“Thanks,” he says, a pleased smile pulling at his mouth. “It makes me calm.”

“Me too,” he admits. “Maybe I should sing with you sometime.”

“Next year’s talent show?”

“Don’t say that. You’ll tempt me.”

“Maybe Hyung will join us. We could make a musical trio.”

He nods vaguely, staring up at the ceiling. Seokmin rarely sings these days, and they both know it. It puts too much pressure on his lungs to do more than hum. “Do you ever think about that?”

“About what?”

“The sort of things we could do if Seokmin wasn’t sick.”

“Like make a band?”

“Sure. Or play sports together. Or go places whenever we like, without working around medicine intake or bad days or hospital visits. Make plans for the far future and know that they’re actually possible. Things like that.” He bites at a fingernail. “It’s so unfair that we can’t.”

“Yeah,” Hansol says. He leaves the keyboard to sit on the floor with him. “But there’s no point in thinking like that. That’s not what we’re working with. We have to focus on what we’ve got.”

“What we’ve got is terrifying. I’m scared every day. Especially when he gets sick, and we can’t see him. I get so scared that we have no time left, and that we haven’t done enough.”

“We can’t control that. We can only control what we do about it. We have to do our best.”

“You’re always saying things like that. Aren’t you afraid too?”

Hansol looks at him, expression revealing nothing. Then he looks at the floor. “Of course I am.”

“Then why do you never say it?”

“Because it’s obvious, I suppose. And it doesn’t help anything to say that I’m afraid.”

“It helps me. We’re in the same situation. It’s nice to remember that, sometimes.”

“But no one’s in the same situation as Seokmin, and he must be the most afraid.”

He’s right, of course. It’s selfish to think about how afraid he is when Seokmin has it a thousand times worse.

“Still. It’s nice to know that we can be afraid together.”

“If it comforts you, then yes. I am afraid.”

“I’m going to miss him. So much.”

“Me too.”

It’s a small comfort in a sea of fear. But it’s something.

-

2017.2.24 / Los Angeles / Hansol

When he’d suggested Disneyland the night before, Seungkwan had almost screamed at him.

“Disneyland? Are you kidding me? Isn’t it expensive?”

“It won’t be too much for a day ticket,” he’d said. “We should see Mickey Mouse while you’re here, right?”

Seungkwan had, by this point, started jumping around his bedroom in delight. “Yes! It’s a must!”

So when he watches Seungkwan excitedly wave at Elsa as they pass her by—she waves back at him with a kind smile—it’s easy to think that this was probably his best idea so far.

“It really is magical,” Seungkwan gushes as they pass through Main Street, the iconic Disney castle in direct eyesight. “The whole park makes me feel like I’m in a faraway kingdom.”

“Right? It’s so awesome here.”

Disneyland is one of the main attractions he’d wanted to see when moving here, but he’d never known who to come with. He’s glad, now, that his procrastination had saved his first visit for Seungkwan.

“Can we buy some of the Mickey Mouse ears everyone has? I want some.”

“We should’ve bought a cheap pair before we came. They’ll be so expensive here.”

“Don’t be a buzzkill. We’re at Disneyland. Let’s buy a pair.”

They divert into the nearest store, which is big enough to be a warehouse and crammed to the brim with Disney goods. He’s quickly distracted by an array of plushies as Seungkwan wanders off to find the ears. He really wants a Simba.

Seungkwan finds him there quickly enough, though. “I’ve got them. You’ll wear them if I buy you a pair, right?”

“Sure,” he says, holding Simba in one hand, Piglet in the other. “Which should I get?”

Seungkwan gasps. “Oh, I want a Piglet. No, I want a Winnie the Pooh. I used to watch it all the time as a kid. We should….” His sentence trails off as he looks down at Piglet.

Hansol puts Piglet down in favour of Simba. “We should what?”

Seungkwan slowly picks up a Pooh bear. “I was going to say we should get one for Hyung.”

Hansol nods in understanding. He does that too, sometimes. For half a second, he’ll think to give Seokmin a call, or pick up a snack he’d like when he’s in a store. Those sorts of moments are hard to shake. It’s the little things that fall through the cracks.

“It’s okay. We could buy something for Mrs. Lee, if you like. She’d appreciate it.”

“Yeah,” Seungkwan says, gathering up a classic Mickey Mouse along with his Winnie the Pooh. “She would.”

They buy the toys, and Seungkwan happily places the Mickey Mouse ears on Hansol’s head. They nearly come off on the first rollercoaster they go on, and he clutches at them and laughs when Seungkwan screams next to him, their carriage perched on the teasing edge of a vertical drop down.

Later, they buy fresh popcorn at a stall and eat it all between them before getting half-soaked on the river ride; in the evening, they grab a meal at a diner just in time for the light show to start, electrifying the park with neon pinks and glowing blues. A parade sings jovially as various Disney characters march down Main Street, waving at them as they pass by. The last ride they go on is the big wheel, and the view at the top spans the whole park below them, pinpointed with light. Seungkwan was right—it is kind of magical.

By the end of the day he’s decided that the Golden Zephyr is his favourite ride, with all its quick drops and unexpected speed. Ever different in their tastes, though, he knows Seungkwan’s favourite part of the day was seeing the Frozen performance. It was pretty sweet—he was mouthing along with a lot of the songs, and the language barrier hadn’t stopped him from thoroughly enjoying the show. He loves watching new performers dance and sing, and comes out of the show with shining eyes and high spirits. Even as they take a late bus home through busy L.A. nightlife, he’s still smiling as he talks about it, leaning on Hansol’s shoulder and wishing he’d asked Elsa for a photo.

When they arrive back at the apartment, he sighs, and flops back on Hansol’s bed.

“I don’t want to go to sleep,” he announces. “Today was too good to end.”

“The parks are shut,” he replies, stretching his arms. “You have to sleep for a new day to come. We can do more things tomorrow.”

“I know. I just wish I didn’t have to sleep in between the good days.”

He shucks off his jeans and sheds his shirt in favour of a comfier one, then climbs into bed just like that. He’s too tired to consider brushing his teeth. “Is that because of the nightmares?”

Seungkwan sits on the edge of the bed, peeling his socks off. “Yeah. And everything that comes before them. There’s nothing to do when you lie in bed.”

“That’s the point.”

“Don’t you hate it, though? There’s nothing there but you and your thoughts.”

He lays down, looking at him sideways on. Seungkwan is sat completely still.

“What do you think about?”

“All the things you’d expect. How much I miss him, mostly. It’s not so much the thinking, I suppose, but the feeling that comes with it. Every day, all the time, I feel like there’s this great big weight on my chest. It’s like I’m carrying around a load that I can’t get rid of, and when I try to sleep, it suffocates me so badly. I don’t know what to do about it. It makes me feel like I can never be free of missing him, and that I’ll always wish things were different. We had such a good day, but no matter what I do, it always comes back to this. I go to sleep. I overthink. I sleep badly, and hurt, and I wish the next day would come quicker. But when it does, I’m still hurting. I always feel so heavy.”

“Come to bed,” he says. “Just take your jeans off and come.”

“I still need to do my night routine…”

“You can wash your face in the morning. Come here.” He opens his arms for him, and Seungkwan gives in.

Hansol shuffles over so that Seungkwan can have the warm part of the bed. He climbs in as soon as his jeans are off, throwing an arm over Hansol’s chest, burying his face into the side of his neck.

They settle there together, close and warm. When their breathing matches, steady in the quiet room, he speaks again.

“I’ve been seeing a therapist since January, you know.”

“That’s good,” Seungkwan murmurs, right under his ear. “Has it helped?”

“I think it has. One of the first things she told me was that grieving is inevitable when you love someone, and that accepting the way you feel is the first step in dealing with loss. If you push your feelings away, you’ll be stuck in a cycle of denial.”

“Easy for her to say. Sometimes my chest hurts so badly it makes me wonder if I have a heart problem. It can get so tight that I can’t breathe, and it puts me on edge, to the point where I could cry at anything. If I go too far into my own head, I can work myself up about it so badly. Try embracing feeling like that every other day.”

He turns his head to feel Seungkwan’s hair on his cheek. Despite being recently bleached, it still feels soft. “You could be having panic attacks.”

“Panic attacks?”

“Yeah. The whole struggling to breathe—it’s an anxiety thing. Have you thought about seeing a counsellor?”

“I’m in student support at school. I see a guy every week who asks me how I’ve been. I usually say that I’m fine. I don’t want to talk to him about it. He doesn’t understand.”

“Maybe when you’re ready, you could see a different professional.”

“I don’t want to talk to any of them. They can’t know how much we’ve lost.”

He gets that. How could anyone truly understand what they’ve been through? How much was taken from them when Seokmin died? But therapy hadn’t been what he’d expected—she’d listened to him, more than anything, and helped him organise his feelings. She’d never been patronising, or falsely sympathetic. He wants that for Seungkwan. He doesn’t want another friend to suffocate.

“Will you talk to me, then? When you feel like that?”

He can feel it when Seungkwan shuts his eyes, the faint brush of eyelashes against the skin of his neck. “It’s been bearable, since I’ve been here. Because we’re together, and we’re the same. Or maybe California just has better air.”

He presses his lips to Seungkwan’s hair, so lightly he might not feel it. “Good. I hope you’ll tell me when you’re feeling bad. Whether we’re together or not.”

“Only if you promise the same.”

“I promise.”

“Okay. I will.”

“Good. You shouldn’t feel alone.”

“I don’t,” he says. The warm breath of his whisper ghosts Hansol’s skin. “Not anymore.”

-

2015.4.26 / Seongnam / Hansol

He has a good view of the dance floor from where he’s sat with Hongseok and Seungyeon, but he’s mostly just been watching Seungkwan and Myungho as they dance to girl group song after girl group song together. The atmosphere out there seems nice, but he doesn’t know enough of the songs being played to get up and enjoy them, so he sticks to his seat instead. The snack table is the best part of the night, anyway.

After they’ve been sitting and talking and avoiding the crowd for close to an hour, Luda comes up to them, hands on her hips and a disapproving expression on her face.

“Are you guys going to dance or what?” she says, hitting Hongseok playfully. “Why else did you pay for your ticket?”

“The snacks,” Hansol admits. And because Seungkwan had asked him to come.

“It’s kind of lame here,” Hongseok groans. “Why did so many people want to come to a stupid school dance?”

“Because it’s fun!” she says, grabbing his wrist and dragging him from the chair. “You have to try and dance, at least!”

Seungkwan is coming over to their table, too. Further back in the room, he can see Chan has dragged Minghao into some sort of dance battle, and Seungkwan seems sufficiently annoyed by it.

“Are you coming?” he says. “It’s no good if you won’t dance too.”

He looks over to Seungyeon, who waves his hand. “It’s okay, go. I’ll try and find Jimin, or something.”

“I don’t know any of these dances, though,” he says as Seungkwan drags him out. The new song that’s playing is causing people to cheer. It sounds like Girls Generation, maybe. Something that should be familiar.

“You don’t have to know the choreography!” Seungkwan says, though he clearly does from the way he’s moving his arms. “Just dance!”

So he does, for a while, follows Seungkwan’s lead and tries to fit in on the dance floor. It’s not bad, even if it’s not particularly his scene. Seungkwan is doing his best to enjoy the night too, but Hansol suspects he’d probably had some grand vision of a beautiful school dance, something formal and romantic from a teen movie. Not their school hall half-heartedly covering round tables in white sheets and setting snack bowls on them, pop music on a rotating playlist blasting through the school speaker system.

After a while, he gives up trying, and pulls Hansol out of the crowd again. “Shall we get out of here?”

“Don’t you want to stay until the couples’ dance? I thought you were excited about that.”

“I changed my mind. I miss Hyung. I think we should take the dance to him. Wait—we should—”

He stops by the doorway to yank hard on one of the blue veils hanging from the wall.

“What are you doing?” he hisses, looking over his shoulder for the eyes of any watchful adults.

He tugs again, and successfully pulls it down this time, laughing to himself as it falls half on top of him. He balls it up in his arms before bolting from the room, Hansol running after him down the empty school hallways. Seungkwan is clutching this stupid blue veil, and he can’t help but laugh about it, not sure where this sudden rebellion has come from, but definitely not hating it.

They make it to the fire exit and out into the cool evening, already dark outside, and Seungkwan shoves the veil into Hansol’s arms. “Hold this for me.”

He watches him pull his phone out as they hastily walk through the school gates. Hansol is still looking over his shoulder for any pursuing teachers or tattletale students, but they seem to be in the clear.

“Hi, Eomma!” Seungkwan says cheerily into his phone. “I hope you don’t mind me calling at this time, but Hansol and I are leaving the dance early right now, and I had this idea. Seokmin was wishing he could come to the dance with us too, right? Well, we’re all dressed up, and the school thing was a dive, so if he’s well enough for visitors right now, do you think we could come over and surprise him instead?”

There’s a pause, and Hansol automatically sets down the path headed for Seokmin’s house, on board with Seungkwan’s newest bright idea.

“That’s great news. Are you against us blasting music together for a little while?”

A bus turns into the end of the road, and he runs ahead to flag it down at the bus stop. Seungkwan follows after him with a big grin on his face. “Thank you so much, Eomma. We’ll be there soon.”

The bus slows, and he climbs on, scanning his student ticket. The driver eyes up the material in his arms, but thankfully doesn’t question him about it.

“Are you going to call Hyung, too?”

“No, let’s make it a proper surprise. Don’t you think it’ll be nice?”

“I think he’ll like it. You have the best ideas.”

Seungkwan beams at him as he takes his seat. “Thanks.”

It’s not long before they arrive at Seokmin’s, the roads quiet tonight, and approach his house still holding the veil. Mr. Chwe answers the door, smiling at the sight of them.

“Come in, come in—he’s in his room, so you’re welcome to go through.”

As they creep through the house, he’s careful not to speak, trying to suppress his laughter and not give them away. When Seungkwan reaches Seokmin’s bedroom door, he turns to grin at Hansol quickly, before pushing on the handle and barging right in.

“Surprise!” he says, at the same time as Hansol says,

“Guess who’s here!”

Seokmin is sat on his bed, cannula in his nose, reading a book. At their noisy entrance, he shrieks and jumps half out of his skin—but then takes a good look at them, eyes round, and puts the book down.

“What are you doing here!” he asks, hand over his heart, but standing to give Seungkwan a hug anyway.

“We’re here to bring the dance to you!” Seungkwan exclaims, hugging him back.

“It was boring without you there,” Hansol says, and Seokmin pulls him in for a hug too.

“I didn’t know you were coming!” He’s grinning wide, eyes turned up into happy lines. “Where did you get that thing?”

“The school hall,” he says, laughing. “Seungkwanie has a rebellious streak.”

Seungkwan takes it from his hands, searching for the hooks in the material. “It’s probably worth the cost of our tickets, so it’s fine.” He stands up on Seokmin’s bed to attach the material to the wall. “It’s for the atmosphere.”

“Seungkwan! You stole that?”

“It’s borrowed! I’ll take it back!” He waves him away to hang up the other side, successfully covering one wall in the pale blue material. “Besides, it’s karma for the school not inviting you to the dance.”

“I’m not a student there anymore, to be fair.”

“But you were everyone’s favourite when you were,” Seungkwan says, stepping down from the bed. “Where’s your speaker? We’re going to dance.”

Seokmin unhooks his cannula and turns off the oxygen tank. “Wait, I need to dress up like you guys. Then it’ll really be a dance.”

He swaps his shirt and shorts for the first dress shirt and slacks he can pull from the wardrobe, as Seungkwan scrolls through his phone for a playlist.

“Here,” he says, just as Seokmin is pulling on his belt. “This looks perfect.”

SHINee’s _Lucifer_ blasts through the speaker, a song impossible for him not to know.

“Oh, yeah!” Seokmin says, starting to shake his hips.

Seungkwan laughs at him. “Let’s go!” he shouts, pulling Hansol in by his wrist, who joins the two of them in their laughing and stupid dancing. The chorus kicks in, and they dance together—not too hard, but enough to be fun—and Seokmin’s face is so bright, he doesn’t know why this wasn’t the plan from the start.

-

2017.2.26 / Los Angeles / Seungkwan

He’s up before Hansol today, startling awake in the early hours of the morning for no apparent reason—probably more dreams that he’s already forgotten. He lies there for a while, staring at Hansol’s back, considering moving closer and trying to bury into his warmth again; having him there, so close and so sturdy, comforts Seungkwan in a way he can’t quite articulate. He doesn’t want to disturb him from his sleep, though. He also doesn’t want to overstep any lines. Hansol has always been easy with him, happy to let Seungkwan take what he wants, but that’s all the more reason not to take things too far. Pretending he has something that he doesn’t is a dangerous path to go down.

When it’s clear that he won’t be going back to sleep anytime soon, he slips out of the bed and makes his way to the kitchen. He might as well get started on some breakfast. When he enters, there’s someone already sat at the table in there, despite the fact that it’s barely light outside. The unknown boy is still in his pyjamas, with a steaming mug in hand, all sleep-rumpled and heavy-lidded.

Seeing Seungkwan at the door, he blinks sleepily, saying something in English Seungkwan can’t understand. He’s ready to back out of the room again, preferring to wait for Hansol to wake up rather than try to communicate with his flatmate in broken English. “Sorry, sorry—” he says, turning to grab the door handle again.

“Are you Vernon’s friend?” the boy says, in Korean this time, and that stops him.

“Oh.” He turns back, surprised. “Yeah. You’re Korean?”

He nods. “Lived in California my whole life, but yeah, I’m Korean. I’m Josh.”

“Hi,” he says. “I’m Seungkwan. I’m just staying with Hansol for a bit, but you must be his flatmate?”

Josh smiles at him. “Yeah, I am. Are you enjoying L.A.?”

“I am!” he says, making his way to Hansol’s cupboard. “It’s amazing here.”

“I bet it’s good for you guys to get to see each other again, too.”

He picks a few packets of ramen out of the cupboard. He gets the feeling Josh knows more about him than he knows about Josh. “Really good. We were apart for too long. This was an overdue trip.”

Josh nods, curling both hands around his mug. “It’s good that you came. I can tell he’s been doing better lately.”

“Yeah?” he pours the water into the pan and sets it to boil. “Was it really bad, before?”

“It wasn’t good. The fact that he’s actually been to some of his classes this semester is an big improvement.”

“I’m glad he has you around. He needs someone to keep an eye out for him.”

“We’re not super close, but I know he’s a good kid. It’s better that he has you around.”

They lapse into early morning quiet after that. He tips the ramen into the pan, watches it swirl. The end of his trip is in sight, now, and he can’t stop thinking how things might be between the two of them after this. The past week has been the best week he’s had in a very long time, and he’d like to think Hansol would say the same. But what about when they’re split by an ocean again? He won’t see him until the summer, then, and is so afraid of them slipping back into bad habits. As they’ve already proved, they’re not good with distance.

“Do you want any ramen?” he asks, stirring the final packet in. He’s realising he’s made too much for the two of them. Hansol doesn’t eat much in the mornings.

“Yeah, I would, actually. Thanks. So, where have you guys been this week?”

“Oh, all over the place! He took me to Santa Monica pier on the first day, after we did some shopping. We spent a day watching movies and catching up with each other, then we went to Disneyland! That was so cool. Yesterday we went into L.A. to see an observatory and some of the other famous sights, and we went on the beach again. It’s been cool, seeing the city.”

“It sounds like you’ve had fun.

“I really have. I’m not sure what we’ve got planned for today, though.”

“Are you thinking of going to the dance?”

“Dance?”

“There’s a dance on campus tonight. A masquerade ball, actually.”

He looks back at Josh, interest piqued. “A masquerade ball?”

“Yeah. It should be fun. The university knows how to host great events.”

The kitchen door opens at that moment, and Hansol wanders in, clothes wrinkled and hair a mess. “Oh, there you are.”

“Are we going to the masquerade ball?” he demands, pointing at him with the stirring spoon. “Were you going to tell me?”

“There’s a masquerade ball?”

“They’re holding one in Royce Hall tonight,” Josh supplies, curling smile directed at Hansol. “You can still get tickets online.”

“Let’s go!” he says. “Can we go? It would be so fun! Do you think we can buy masks from somewhere at the last minute?”

“If you’re planning on wearing black, I can lend you some. I accidentally bought a four-pack.”

“Yes please!” he says, now pointing the spoon at Josh. “Now that’s fate, and we definitely have to go!”

Hansol blinks, still half asleep. “Okay. If you want.”

“Yes!” he says, turning back to serve out the ramen. “Now I don’t regret making you food you’ll barely eat. Look up the tickets, see if there’s still some left.”

There are tickets left, it turns out, so the day turns into a shopping mission to get them both some appropriate clothes for the event. It’s fun, the spontaneity of it all, and he thinks Hansol doesn’t mind it either with the way he’s actively picking out shirts and complimenting Seungkwan on his choices. His favourite selection is a white shirt and black blazer combo, delicate silver trimmings making it feel ornamental, a little glamorous. Hansol comes back with a classic all black look, and he can’t say he hates it. He looks like he could be the prince hosting the ball.

He doesn’t say that, of course, because that’s cheesy as hell. But it doesn’t make it any less true when he walks into the ballroom hall, looking every inch like royalty, turning heads despite the mask covering half of his face. But it’s Seungkwan he has on his arm.

The hall is artfully decorated, looking more beautiful than he could have even imagined. Black drapes hang along the high windows, tables artfully placed around the room with bunches of flowers in the centre. The chandelier hanging from the ceiling glitters and basks the room in a warm light, bright enough for him to admire all the beautiful gowns, the sharp cuts of the suits, the glint of each ornate mask.

“It’s amazing,” he breathes as they walk through the hall. People are talking in groups or sat at tables in pairs, and there’s actual real musicians readying their instruments at the other end of the room. Everything looks like it belongs in a fairy-tale. “Your university is so cool.”

“I didn’t even know they held events like this. This place looks awesome.”

“Do you know anyone here?”

“Josh should be around here somewhere, but I don’t know many other people…”

“Vernon!” a female voice says behind them. “I didn’t know you were coming!”

They turn to see a girl in a long, cream dress, who Hansol clearly recognises despite the mask. “Oh, hi! I didn’t know you were here either!”

“It’s not really my scene, but Chaeyeon loves this sort of thing, so we came. You guys look great!”

“Thank you,” Seungkwan says, just about keeping up with the stream of English. He nudges Hansol under the guise of pulling him closer.

“Oh, this is Seungkwan. He’s visiting me in L.A. for a bit,” he says, before switching to Korean. “This is Sakura, my flatmate. She’s here with her girlfriend, and she said we look great.”

“I understood that bit,” he says through a smile. “Tell her she looks good too, you idiot.”

“He says you look great, too. Your dress is really pretty.”

“Thanks!” she says, beaming. “You know, you should’ve told me that you have a boyfriend, Vernon! I had no idea you swung that way!”

“Ah… um…” he trails off, scratching his head. Seungkwan fights to keep a straight face as he watches for Hansol’s response.

They’re interrupted by the man stood with the musicians, who calls out to the room. “Students of UCLA! Welcome to the annual masked ball!” Some more wordy English follows, and Seungkwan quickly loses track.

Instead, he looks over to Hansol, who turns away from Sakura to listen to the announcement. The thought that they look like boyfriends tonight, matching masks, arm in arm, is making him feel all warm and silly inside. He reminds himself again of the dangers of pretending to have things that you don’t—it’s the sort of slippery slope that he can’t afford to go down. But how bad could it be for one night? It’s been four years of suppressing how he feels. He’s aching to indulge himself, just this once. Just for tonight.

“They want us to come up for the partnered dance first,” Hansol says, voice mostly level. “Do you want to sit instead? You know I can’t dance.”

“Did you come to a ball to sit?”

“I didn’t know it was going to be such a formal thing. Do you even know how to do a couples dance?”

“Look. They’re just dancing. You don’t have to know any special steps.” He points to where the man and another teacher are leading the dance in the centre of the room, holding each other and turning in an easy pattern. The orchestra has started playing, and the music is jovial, but slow enough to dance to.

“So… you want to dance, then?”

“Do you know me at all?”

Hansol laughs, breathy, and looks down at his shoes. They couldn’t find any cheap dress shoes that they liked, so while Seungkwan is wearing some simple black slip-ons, Hansol’s white sneakers are peeking out from the end of his slacks. It looks ridiculous, but it’s so very Hansol that he can’t help but be stupidly endeared by it. “Let’s dance then, your highness.”

“Thank you, my Lord,” he smiles, stepping back to bow at him.

Hansol does a wobbly curtsey back, before offering out his hand. Seungkwan takes it, familiar and soft, and leads them out onto the dance floor. There, they turn to face each other with one hand still clasped, and he puts the other hand on Hansol’s shoulder. Hansol tentatively rests his on Seungkwan’s waist, and Seungkwan smiles at him, encouraging.

Just one dance. Then he’ll be done.

They step in time with the music, though it takes a few tries to move in sync before they get the hang of it. He almost collides with another girl at one point, but from then on it’s smooth sailing, learning to work with each other and trust Hansol’s judgement when he can’t see behind him. The song slows, and so do they, and his hand slips a little higher to cup the back of Hansol’s neck.

“See,” he says, and they’re so close together, he speaks low. “I knew you could do it.”

“Anything for you, your highness,” Hansol says, his smile full of cheek.

In his heart, he wishes it were possible to have this for more than one dance, for more than one night. Wishes it were possible to have this at all.

He rests his head against Hansol’s shoulder, swaying with him. For now, he’ll let himself pretend.

-

2015.8.7 / Seongnam / Seungkwan

“Hansol is at a concert with his weird music friends,” he says as he walks into Seokmin’s bedroom. “In return for ditching us, I propose we act like he doesn’t exist for at least three days.”

“Oh, cool!” Seokmin says, glancing up from his game. “What concert?”

“I don’t know. One of the obscure bands they like. Funny name. He said he might come by later if we’re hanging out until late.”

The console trills a chirpy victory tune, and Seokmin fist pumps, sitting up from where he was slouched against the wall. “I just finished the level! Finally, wow, I’ve been playing that one for so long!”

Seungkwan sits on the bed, sinking back into the pillows. “I walked all the way here to see you and that’s the first thing you have to say to me?”

He places the console down, crawling over to sit beside him. “Kwanie, I love you so much, thank you for walking all the way here to see me, you’re the light of my life—”

“I know, I know,” he says, inspecting his nailbeds. “You’re alright too, I suppose.”

“I love you,” Seokmin says, smiling at him.

“I love you too,” he says, sincerely. They’re in the habit of saying that more often, these days.

“Wait, his weird music friends? Doesn’t that include Luda?”

“Yes?”

“Are they friends again?”

“They were never not friends. They just happened not to hang out for a while.”

“So they’re not together again?”

“Not that I know of. Why are you asking me?”

“I trust you be keeping tabs on Hansol’s love life. Are you ever going to do anything about Hansol, by the way?”

“Are you asking me to ask him out?” he laughs. “Yeah, nice idea. It’s never happening.”

“But he said he would date boys! You have a shot!”

“No, I don’t. We’re friends. It’s weird. He would never see me like that.”

“You don’t know that if you don’t ask!”

“If I ask, it’ll be weird! He’ll think it’s weird, and then I’ll never be able to look him in the eye again, and that would ruin everything, so it’s not happening.”

“He said he’d take anyone on a date once. You should follow him up on that. You might at least get a kiss out of it.”

“You’re terrible,” he tells him, laughing. “I’m sorry to disappoint, but there will be no kissing between us anytime soon.”

“Imagine having your first kiss with someone like Hansol. Now that’s a win.”

“It sounds like you want to kiss him more than I do,” he says, wrinkling his nose. “Besides. It wouldn’t be my first kiss.”

Seokmin gasps. “Seungkwan! Did you have your first kiss without telling me?”

“It was terrible. There’s nothing worth telling.”

“When was it? Where was it? Who did you kiss?”

“I don’t want to remember it!”

“You have to tell me now!”

He sighs, briefly covering his face with his hands. “Do you remember when I went to that summer camp? Like, three years ago?”

“The one in Jeju?”

“Yeah. Great place, I want to visit again sometime. Anyway, there was this guy there who was a year older than me, and I thought he was so cute. Apparently, he saw right through me, because we ended up kissing behind cabin three a few days before the end of camp. It was terrible. He didn’t know what he was doing, and neither did I. It took him three tries to even meet my mouth, and then he tried to go for tongue way too fast…” he shivers. “It was awful. Then all the other kids found out about it, and the last three days of camp were a nightmare. I was so anxious to come home after that.”

“That is pretty bad,” Seokmin says, eyes round. “I don’t blame you for not telling anyone.”

“I try to erase it from my memory. You’re special for getting that story out of me. I vowed never to tell anyone.”

“I’ll keep your secret close to my heart.”

“I knew I could trust you, Hyung.”

“Hey, what if you started telling people that your second kiss was actually your first? That way you wouldn’t have to relive that story ever again!”

“I haven’t had a second kiss. Needed to take some space from boys after that experience.”

“You’re here with me right now, though.”

“You don’t count. You’re the only boy I trust.”

“Really? You don’t even trust Hansol?”

“Definitely not. He wears clothes in colours that shouldn’t be seen by the human eye.”

Seokmin laughs. “Don’t be mean! It’s his style!”

“Mean? Me? He’s the one who gives me regular migraines!”

He laughs again, settling back against the wall and smiling to himself. Seungkwan sits up straighter to mirror him, and goes to speak again, but Seokmin gets there first.

“At least you had a first kiss, you know. I don’t think I’m going to get one at this rate. No one wants to kiss a sick kid.”

He frowns. “Don’t say that. I’d kiss you any day. I told you, you’re the best of us all.”

“Really?”

“Of course. I’d kiss you right now if you asked.”

Seokmin looks at him with big eyes, opening his mouth. Then he shuts it again, and bites his lip. The atmosphere shifts.

Oh. Wait. What?

“You know, if we did, it would be your second kiss.” He twists the bedsheets in his hands, voice just falling short of casual. “When you confess to Hansol in the future, you can tell him that I was your first.”

“Best friend first kiss?” he says, glancing at Seokmin’s mouth. “Are you serious?”

He nods. “It’s one of the main things on my bucket list. Not you, specifically—but, you know—to have a first kiss.”

“And you’re choosing me?”

“Yeah. I trust you.” He shifts nervously on his thighs, and it pushes them closer together on the bed.

Seungkwan puts a hand to the side of Seokmin’s face to keep him steady. “Are you sure I’m allowed to? I’m not going to pass you any germs, right?”

Seokmin shrugs. “Maybe you’ll magically cure me.”

“Wouldn’t that be nice,” he murmurs. “Are you really sure about this?”

“Yeah,” he smiles. “Really sure.”

He shoots him a smile back, then leans in, making sure to aim well this time. The kiss lands right, his mouth against Seokmin’s soft lips, and it feels a strange. Not as bad as the kiss at camp, but not exactly fireworks—it’s awkward, being this close to him. To hold him like this. He’s all for intimacy, but he’s never thought of Seokmin in this way.

Seokmin is the one to pull away first, giggling nervously. “Kissing is weird! Oh, that was so weird.”

“Right?” he says, stroking Seokmin’s cheek once before letting go of him. “It’s weird because we’re friends! You should’ve expected that!”

“I mean, it wasn’t bad! You have soft lips, you know.”

“Really?”

“Totally. I don’t think we need to do it again, though.”

“Agreed,” he says, clutching Seokmin’s arm and laughing to himself. This is kind of surreal. “You’re so cute, you know. Was it what you thought it would be?”

“Well, it’s exactly what it looks like, isn’t it? I thought it would feel different. Where did the idea even come from? Putting your mouth against someone else’s? You eat there. It’s weird.”

“I don’t know. It does sound weird when you put it like that. Are you happy that you can call me your first kiss?”

“Very happy. I can think of no one better,” Seokmin says, smiling so wide he knows the words are genuine. “Will you tell Hansol in the future that I was your first kiss?”

“There will be no need to tell Hansol anything like that, because I’m not going to date him.”

“Maybe not,” Seokmin says, resting back against the wall again. “But do you promise me you’ll try and ask him out, just one time? It doesn’t have to be soon. Just once, in the future.”

“Hyung…”

“Please? Just to see. You never know if you don’t try, and Hansol is good. You guys wouldn’t fall out over something like that.”

“I’ve got no chance.”

“There’s no harm in trying. Just once, sometime in the future. That’s all I ask for.”

He bites his lip, fiddles with a hangnail, and sighs. Seokmin doesn’t look away, doesn’t back down, and he was never very good at saying No to him. “Fine. One day. Only for you.”

“One day,” he says, breaking out into a beaming smile. “And when you do, make sure you kiss him better than that!”

“Hey!”

He pushes him, and Seokmin laughs, going down onto the bed without a fight.

-

2017.2.27 / Los Angeles / Seungkwan

There’s something intensely intimate about being in someone else’s bed. To be between sheets that smell like them, pressing your skin against every crease they’ve made. To lay your head where they’ve laid theirs. It’s means trust, to be invited into somewhere so personal, and to be in Hansol’s bed makes him feel safe. Laying in the corner of the room, lights off, up against his warm body—it feels like an honour he’s earned, after all these years of friendship. Something like love, maybe.

Maybe that’s why he blurts it out, right then and there, on his last night in L.A.

“You know I’m gay, right?”

Hansol puts his phone down to look up at Seungkwan, who’s hovering at the edge of the bed. They’re both in their pyjamas, and it’s late, so his words are big and loud in the quiet room.

“No,” Hansol says. “Well. I had my guesses. But you’ve never outright said it, so I didn’t know for sure.”

He shakes his head and pulls back the covers, careful not to touch him as he climbs into the bed. “Hyung thought that you’d already know. I guess I did wait too long to tell you.”

“Why did you wait so long? I came out to you years ago.” He says it easily, without judgement.

He shrugs, shoulders tense. “I only ever told Hyung because we were on limited time. I’ve never told anyone else.”

Hansol props himself up on his elbow. “I get that. But you didn’t actually think that I’d take it badly, did you?”

“No. I guess I was trying to hide from everyone, but you know me too well. This last week just had me thinking about it, because I wasn’t sure if you really had figured it out or not, considering how willing you’ve been to have me in your bed every night.”

Hansol snorts. “Did you think I’d make you sleep on the floor if you came out? Smart to leave it until the end of the week, then.”

Seungkwan hits him, and Hansol laughs. “I don’t know what I thought. I knew you’d be fine, because it’s you, but…” He trails off. He doesn’t really know why he’s told him, even now. Because he’s scared of going back to Korea, maybe. Because he’s too far along the slippery slope.

He lays down, head on the pillow, but Hansol stays propped up, looking at him. Then he looks away, fiddling with his phone, and makes a small considering sound in his throat.

“What?” he asks. “You’re not really going to kick me out of the bed, are you?”

“Don’t be stupid,” Hansol says, but his voice is breathier, nervous.

“Then what is it?”

Hansol scratches along the edge of his phone case before looking up again. “Is there any other reason you’ve told me now?”

“What do you mean?”

Hansol’s eyes bore into him. “Has this week felt different to you?”

“It’s been different in every way possible. You’re going to have to be more specific than that.”

“Like… I don’t know if it’s just me, but… things feel different. You know. Between us.”

His breath catches, and he goes very still. “In what way?”

“Seungkwan… maybe I’m crazy, but I swear I’m not saying this because you just came out, okay? Even since we fought, things were so shit—and then you came back, and things were great again, and I realised, um—I guess I realised how much you mean. To me. And I realised… how I feel.”

His mouth opens, then closes. Slowly, he sits up, staring at him. “Am I hallucinating right now?”

Hansol looks down at the bed again. “If it’s just me, then you can forget everything I just said—I don’t want to make anything weird—”

“Hansol,” he says, and he thinks he might pass out any second now. “If you’re confessing to me, you have to be serious about it. I’ve liked you for way too long for this to be a half-hearted idea.”

Hansol sits up in one movement. “You… what? For how long?”

“For years,” he says, but the words get caught in his throat, and tears start spilling out instead. “So don’t say this because we’ve had a good week together, and don’t say it because I’ve been gone and now I’m leaving again—don’t say it for any reason other than you really mean it, okay? Do you really mean it?”

“Of course I do. I’m serious. I’ve always imagined spending my whole life with you, you know. The future always had you in it, for me. I guess this week helped me understand how much I really want that. Also, that I kind of want to kiss you, too.”

He promptly bursts into tears, properly crying now, and leans forward to hide his face in Hansol’s shoulder.

“Oh, _no_.”

Hansol wraps his arms around him in a hug. “What? What is it?”

“You really do mean it,” he cries, wrapping his arms tight around Hansol’s neck. “I think I’m ruined forever.”

Hansol laughs, stroking up his back gently. “Don’t say that. You could never be.”

He leans back, leaving Hansol’s shirt slightly tear-damp. “No, I really am. I’ve liked you for years, and you’re the one to confess first? This is terrible. Thank you.”

Hansol is smiling wide, face bright. “You’re welcome. Were you ever going to tell me?”

“Of course not! That’s so embarrassing! Who would ever have a crush on you?”

“That’s true. Only an idiot would. Who would confess to their friend on the last night of their holiday, after not seeing them for six months?”

“Only an idiot,” he confirms through tears. “We’re made for each other, or something.”

“Maybe we are. Do you want to try this?”

“What’s this?”

“Dating?”

“Oh my god, dating. For real?”

“What else do we do? We know we both want to kiss each other. Isn’t this how it goes?”

“Kissing first,” he says. “Then dating.”

“Huh. I didn’t know it went like that.”

“No, it does. I’m sure of it.”

“Then we’d better kiss.”

“Sure.” His glances down at Hansol’s mouth. Oh, God. They’re going to kiss.

“You sure you’re sure?”

“Very sure.” He bites his lip. “I can’t believe this is real life.”

“It’s real.” Hansol is grinning at him. “Know how real?”

“How real?”

Hansol takes his hand and pulls him in, bringing his other hand up to cup Seungkwan’s face. He goes easily, leaning in close, and they come together in a nervous, soft kiss. Hansol is gentle with him, slightly hesitant but perfectly soft, body heat pressing against his. They part briefly, but Seungkwan only tilts his head and goes right back in, one hand on Hansol’s thigh as he leans forward to press a little harder. When they move just right, it makes him smile into the kiss. He’s kissing Hansol. This is really happening.

When they part again, Hansol is smiling too, nervous, but just as bright as the sun.

“Hey,” Seungkwan says. “Will you go on a date with me?”

“Yeah,” Hansol grins. “Alright.”

“Asshole,” he laughs, pushing him back onto the bed and leaning down for another kiss, bodies close, sheets warm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i managed to submit my dissertation this week, at the same time as editing this. who said i can't multitask? by the time you get the last chapter, i'll have finished uni completely, which is strange, but i'm excited to get both things finished! (it'll probably be another 6 days or so)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the delay in posting this chapter, but it didn't feel right to put this part out when i'd promised it, right after the death of george floyd and at the begnning of this wave of movement. that being said, i hope this chapter can continue to be a comfort to the people who found comfort in this story.
> 
> [here](https://blacklivesmatters.carrd.co/) are some [resources](https://blacklivesmatter.carrd.co/) you can use to learn about BLM, sign petitions, donate to the movement, etc. together, we can make change!
> 
> [here](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL0ACAj6h3K85zG9FD70FlXrejdBal11z4) is the playlist for this chapter
> 
> enjoy <3

2017.5.31 / Seoul / Hansol

He’s trying to survey everywhere at once as he jogs across the campus, turning and peering to catch sight of the Kookmin sports ground. Seungkwan had sent him a selfie not ten minutes ago—he knows the volleyball society have set up outdoors today, and that practise will be beginning anytime now. He’d been hoping to get there before the start of the match, but he’s about to cut it fine.

A high fence comes into view, the sound of sports balls hitting soft tarmac further beyond it. This must be it. He runs the length of the fence to get to the gate, and quickly scans through the people on the courts—everyone is warming up and chatting, no game going yet. He spots Seungkwan standing on the far side of the volleyball court, his back to Hansol, talking to a group of three other boys. As he shuts the gate behind him, he can’t stop his smile from growing.

He walks across the court as casually as he can, headed straight for him, and one of Seungkwan’s friends—Mingyu, he thinks, he recognises him from the pictures—looks up as he approaches. He puts a finger to his lips, asking him not to give him away.

Mingyu looks at him a second longer, then back at Seungkwan, nodding at whatever he’s saying. Hansol is close enough now to hear him, too.

“—I know you’re graduating this year, but God knows who’s going to take over the society next year, so it really would be better to try and get the equipment now—”

“Hey, you,” he says, as he loops his arms around Seungkwan’s waist from behind. His hold is loose enough for Seungkwan to spin around at the sound of his voice, eyes wide and mouth open, their noses grazing slightly.

“Hansol!” he shrieks, voice going up several pitches as he gawks and grabs his shoulders. “What! What in the hell—what are you doing here!” He laughs out of pure disbelief, throwing his arms around his neck in a strong hug.

It makes him laugh too, because God, is it good to see him again. He uses the momentum of Seungkwan’s weight to latch his hands behind his back and spin him around once, Seungkwan laughing in his ear, voice surprised and high and really here, not on the end of another call.

“My classes all finished earlier than I expected,” he says into Seungkwan’s shoulder. “I thought I’d come home early, come and see you.”

“You should’ve told me!” He speaks like he’s scolding him, but he’s smiling to wide to sound annoyed. “I would’ve ditched these losers to show you around campus!”

“Hey!” The blonde friend puts some modicum of offense into his tone. “Who are you calling a loser after that sickening display of affection?”

“Like you wouldn’t be just the same if you had the slightest semblance of a love life,” Seungkwan says, arms still firmly around Hansol’s neck, but leaning out to emphasise his words.

“We’re graduating at the end of the year, and you don’t even want to spend your precious time with us? Cheol, we have to take his mic away, he’s clearly not a team player with the boyfriend around.”

“How will anyone hear him if you do that?” Mingyu says, pointy canines making his smile look impish.

“Oh, like that would stop him. You know he’ll make himself heard no matter where he is.”

“Hey!” Seungkwan says. “Don’t bully me in front of my boyfriend! I’m supposed to be making him believe you’re my friends!”

The boy with the muscled arms and soft eyes laughs at him. “It’s nice to finally meet you,” he says, offering a hand out to Hansol. “We’ve heard a lot about you. I’m Seungcheol.”

He takes his hand—he recognises him now, Seungkwan had said that he was the society president—and shakes it, smiling back. “I’ve heard plenty about you too! And you guys are right, really—Kwanie could be a national champion at talking if he wanted.”

“Unbelievable,” Seungkwan says, tightening the arm around his neck as if threatening a chokehold. “I don’t need any of you, you know. I can talk to myself just fine!”

“Should I fly back to California, then? I came to watch you guys play, but if you don’t want me here—”

“Don’t even joke about that,” Seungkwan warns. “Seriously. If you think you’re going anywhere now, you’re in for another thought, buddy.”

“Speaking of, we probably need to get started,” Seungcheol says, leaving their semicircle to round up the other society members.

“Babe, this is Mingyu, this is Jeonghan,” Seungkwan says, pointing to each of them in turn. “Mingyu’s a better player, but Jeonghan plays harder when he has someone to impress, so you might see one of his good matches today.”

“I do nothing of the sort,” Jeonghan says, as they make their way to the court. “And I’m definitely as good as Mingyu!”

“We’ll see about that,” Seungkwan says, waving as he parts from them to head to the stands, dragging Hansol by the hand. They go up a few steps as the rest of the players huddle on the court, being divided into teams.

“Don’t you play, too?”

“I do most weeks, but I just to join in on any team that’s lacking players. I don’t mind sitting out. I like commentating just as much as playing, now.” They sit down next to Seungkwan’s speaker and mic set, ready to go for the match. “I can’t believe you managed to find me here without telling me you were coming. I thought you were shit at keeping secrets.”

“I’m not good with secrets, but I’m pretty good at surprises. And I really wanted to surprise you.”

“You did well, I didn’t suspect anything. Is that why you asked me to send you a picture earlier? I thought you were trying to lead into sexting.”

“Oh my God, no, it wasn’t like that,” he laughs. “Sorry to disappoint, but I was really just trying to find where you were.”

“You didn’t disappoint,” Seungkwan smiles, leaning closer. “It’s way better that you’re here.”

“Good. I’ve missed you,” he says, quiet, so that only he can hear.

“I’ve missed you too,” Seungkwan murmurs, coming closer to kiss him firmly.

Tension eases out of him at the touch, the contact feeling like relief after so long apart. Having to talk to him through a screen, trying to negotiate all of their contact through the awkward time difference—it was all worth it to get them here. Hansol had missed him badly when they weren’t talking, but it was somehow harder the second time they parted, trying to navigate a new relationship whilst being six thousand miles apart. But he’s here now, Seungkwan’s hand in his hair, fingers threading through his curls as they kiss. He could get used to this.

“Seungkwan!” Seungcheol shouts from the court, and they break apart to see the whole netball society watching them, a few of the girls giggling together. “Will you blow the start whistle for us?”

Seungkwan turns to pick up his mic, switching on the speaker beside him. He holds it up to his mouth, and his voice projects loud and clear across the court. “Sure thing, Hyung. Don’t mind me, I was just warming up too. Is everyone ready?”

He laughs, hiding his face in the back of Seungkwan’s shirt.

“Alright!” He blows the whistle, and the ball is served. Hansol settles in to watch the game, still holding Seungkwan’s hand, smile refusing to leave his face.

-

2015.12.10 / Seongnam / Hansol

Seokmin is in the middle of taking his medication when Hansol arrives, so he waves at him rather than offering a verbal greeting, eyes smiling over the mask.

“Hi,” he responds, shutting the bedroom door behind him. “Seungkwan wants you to call him when you can. He also wanted me to pass on that he’d much rather come and see you than his dad, but he was afraid Jinseol might murder him if he ditched their trip.”

Seokmin smiles behind the mask, giving him a thumbs up, focusing on his breathing. Hansol sits opposite him on the bed, pulling his phone out. He replies to his mom’s text, confirming he’ll be eating with the Lees tonight, and then sends one to Seungkwan, telling him not to worry about Seokmin. He seems okay.

“Hello,” Seokmin sing-songs once he’s done with the dosage. “How’s your day been?”

“Hi. It’s been boring as ever. My dad was trying to get me to finish studying before I came here, but Mr. Park has set the worst Language assignment. I left it half-finished, and I’m considering handing it in like that.”

“Mr. Park? I thought he was the Geography teacher?”

“The Mr. Park from Geography moved schools last year. We have a new Mr. Park in Language, and he’s horrible. Believe me, you’re not missing out on anything.”

“The old Mr. Park was so nice! I can’t believe he’s gone.”

“He was alright, but I don’t think he liked me as much as he liked you.”

“What are you talking about? He loved you! Remember when we made that topographical map of Korea, and he was showing it off to every student who came into his class?”

“I remember him labelling it with your name, then adding mine in the margins when you reminded him that it was a group project.”

Seokmin smiles sheepishly. “Oh, yeah. I suppose he did have his favourites.”

“He totally had favourites. It’s okay, though. Understandable when it comes to you.”

Seokmin waves him away. “You flatter me.”

“Everyone knows it. Hey, have you seen any of the guys from your choir group recently? I bet they’re missing you there.”

Seokmin’s smile fades a little. “I was thinking of inviting some of them over recently, but it might be too weird. I don’t know.”

“Why? I thought you were good friends with them?”

“Yeah. They’re all good guys, but I guess we weren’t that close.”

He looks away, pauses, and Hansol waits patiently for him to say what he’s thinking. He doesn’t mind the quiet, sitting knee to knee with Seokmin.

“I actually went on a walk a couple of weeks ago, before the snow started falling. I get desperate for the fresh air sometimes, but you know how the cold makes breathing harder for me. So Mom asked me to take the oxygen tank, and I said yes, and we went out together.”

“How did that go?”

“That’s the thing. I’m used to wearing the cannula now, because it makes everything easier, so I didn’t mind taking it. But it was the first time I’d worn it in public. We were just going to the park, but dragging the oxygen tank after me made me feel kind of self-conscious. I realised how well-adjusted you guys are to all the cystic stuff, too—it’s second nature to us now, but… well, we ran into Samuel and a few of the others at the park. He’s a good kid, you know. I like him a lot, but I haven’t really seen him since I stopped going to choir. Anyway, he kept staring at the tube, and looking at me like he was seeing a kicked puppy. I don’t know. I didn’t like it much. Other people kept looking at me as they walked past, too. It made me uncomfortable, but I can’t really blame them for it.”

“I get that. It sucks. Some of my earliest memories are from when we first moved to Korea, and I was starting to understand that I was different to everyone else. Whenever we would go anywhere as a family, people would always stare at us. Even when I go out now, I still get looked at.”

“It’s only because you’re so handsome,” Seokmin says, and Hansol smiles back.

“I know they’re not the same sort of looks you get, but it still affected me as a kid. I didn’t want strangers looking at me because of how I look, or because they pity me. It took me a while to realise that it doesn’t matter what others think. I love my family. I’m happy the way I am.”

Seokmin smiles at him. “That’s good. Your family is great, and you should be proud of them. I can’t exactly say I love my disease.”

“No, yeah, I mean, of course not. I’m just trying to say—you know—that other people don’t matter. You’re doing great. Go to the park if you want, it doesn’t matter if people look at you. Let them.”

“Yeah, I knew what you meant,” he says, eyes twinkling. “Maybe we should go out together, sometime. That’d really give them something to look at.”

“You might be onto something there. If we brought Seungkwan, he could give them a proper show, make the attention worth it.”

“With us as his glamorous assistants?”

“You know it.”

“He’d outshine us both.”

“Probably. But maybe that would teach them about what’s really worth looking at.”

Seokmin looks at him with something like knowing. “That’s a good point. Let’s organise it next time my Mom lets me out of the house, okay?”

“Sure,” he says, grinning. “Until then, do you want to play some Splatoon?”

-

2017.6.13 / Seongnam / Seungkwan

After they lay their flowers over Seokmin’s date of death and take a walk around the park to give the Lees some space, the four of them go out to eat together. Bulgogi and kimbap and samgyeopsal are all laid out across the table, and they eat well, and talk about Seokmin.

It still hurts to talk about it him. Especially at this time of the year, and especially whilst he’s back in Seongnam, where it feels like something huge is missing. But there’s something different about being sat around a table with the three people who deserve to remember him most, and who can reminisce with him the best; the three people he trusts the most with his own precious memories. Somehow, being here makes it easier to talk about Seokmin in the past tense. Usually, allowing himself to think like that feels like an act of betrayal, or like giving in. But speaking about him with those who also love and miss him the same way he does feels more like remembrance.

“I really wish he could’ve met all my friends at Kookmin. They would’ve been good friends, I just know it! Jeonghan would love him, and Soonyoung has just the same humour as me, so I know they’d click well.”

“It’s enough that you’ve made all these friends, you know,” Mr. Lee says, taking a swig from his glass. “Of course, it would’ve been amazing for him to go to University too, or even to go and visit yours. But it’s enough that you’ve done it, in this past year. It’s been the hardest year, and you did it anyway. That’s a triumph.”

“Thank you,” he says, nursing his own glass. “I’ve tried to throw myself into everything I can. It’s been hard, but rewarding. It helps a bit, to be busy.”

“I wish I had all the activities you do,” Mrs. Lee smiles. “Coco does keep us occupied enough, though. He’s a feisty pup.”

He looks out of the window at the brown puppy waiting impatiently for them by the door. They’d been the ones to handle him whilst walking around the park and waiting for the Lees—the pup seems to be made of pure energy, had been half dragging Hansol along by the lead despite his tiny size. Seungkwan couldn’t be more endeared.

“What about you, Hansol? Excited to get back for your second year?”

He looks over at Hansol, who glances back at him, half-smiling. “I’m actually dropping out of school. I completed my first year, but I don’t think university is right for me right now.”

“Oh? What are you planning on doing next, then?”

“I’m moving to Seoul, living with Seungkwan and some of his friends. I’m going to look for work there, then start taking night classes in composing and music production.”

This has been a discussion between the two of them for a few months, now, but plans had to be sped up when Hansol’s house in Seongnam was officially sold. Mr. Chwe had decided to move to Florida to be with the family, but Hansol had preferred the idea of moving back to Korea. There’s space for Hansol in the apartment he’s renting with Mingyu and Soonyoung, and with the way he’s been struggling in California, they’d both agreed that another two years there wouldn’t benefit him. For a while, Seungkwan had been pushing the idea that he could transfer to Kookmin, try to finish his degree there, but Hansol seems set on the idea that working shifts will help him. Something his therapist had said about routines, and earning something for himself. He didn’t try to argue it too hard. The most important thing is for Hansol to find something that will make him happy. Being able to live together is the most he could ask from him, anyway.

“Music production!” she says, her eyes smiling just like Seokmin’s. “You boys always did love music. I suppose that’s finally turning into something?”

“Yeah, I hope so. Seungkwan has actually started uploading song covers online, you know. You should listen, they’re really good.”

He knocks his knee under the table. “Stop that, you’re not my publicist.”

“I know. If I were, I’d be asking you for a wage.”

“Like I have anything to pay you, with all my student debts. You’re the one who’s supposed to be paying me rent soon!”

“Why else do you think I need the wage? I’m about to be paying Seoul prices for half a bed and a shared bathroom the size of a toilet cubicle.”

“Can you make money from the covers? I hear people do that online these days.”

He jerks his head to Mrs. Lee, blinking at Hansol’s too-close shave with outing them both. Half a bed? What was he thinking?

“I can, but I need a high amount of views to make any good money. I’m making pennies right now.”

“Keep going with it! You never know, you could get famous from it!”

“That certainly would be nice!” He reaches for his glass, wrapping both hands around it nervously.

Mr. Lee is looking between them in a way that makes his cheeks hot. “How many rooms did you say your Seoul apartment was?”

He glances back at Hansol, who looks at him, panic in his eyes. He knows Hansol is completely comfortable with being out, has already told his family about the two of them, but it’s just not the same for him. He can’t predict how Ma will take the news, and doesn’t want this to get back to her without his control. They’d agreed to keep their relationship on the down low for a little while, at least with people they know back in Seongnam.

Unfortunately, he never could lie to a Lee.

“Three bedrooms,” he says, finishing his glass. “Do you think we could get refills? That buldak was so spicy.”

“And how many friends are you moving in with?”

He licks his lips. “Two others. Soonyoung, the one I mentioned with the humour, and Mingyu, he’s great, I think you’d really like him—"

“Oh, boys,” Mrs. Lee says, leaning forward to put her elbows on the table and her face in her hands. “You don’t have to hide from us, you know. Seokmin always thought this would happen eventually.”

He stares, hands stilling around his empty glass. “He did?”

She nods, smiling at them. “He was sure. I’m so happy for you both! How long has this been going on?”

He glances at Hansol again, who’s looking to his lead.

“Just a few months,” he says, feeling warm all over. “It’s pretty new, really, and we weren’t planning on telling anyone quite yet—”

“It’s alright. We won’t say a word.” Mrs. Lee puts a finger to her lips, laughing a little. She’s red-faced from the drink, but she seems genuinely happy for them, and the anxiety in his belly subsides a little.

“He would be very happy for you too, you know. It’s a good thing. I can’t say I understand that sort of relationship, but—if you’re happy, you’re happy. That’s what’s important.” Mr. Lee downs the rest of his glass in one, leaning back in his chair. “That’s what’s important. You’ve got to make the most of your life.”

“Definitely,” Hansol says, looking directly at Mr. Lee. “Being with Seungkwan makes me happy.”

“Then don’t let anyone make you feel like you’re wrong,” Mrs. Lee says, taking Seungkwan’s hand over the table. “People might be against you, but you know the value of being happy, right? Seokmin taught us that much, didn’t he?”

“He did,” Seungkwan says, grasping her hand back. “Thank you. Really. Thank you.”

Much later, when they’ve eaten all they can and been dropped back home, when it’s long gone dark and they’re lying together in Seungkwan’s bed, he runs his fingertips up and down the soft skin of Hansol’s arm, and asks,

“Do you think they were right?”

“Who?” Hansol murmurs, half-asleep. “What?”

“About Seokmin. Do you think he’d be happy for us?”

Hansol blinks his eyes open to squint at him in the dark room. “Why wouldn’t he be?”

He flattens his hand along his arm, stroking him there. “I was so scared for the Lees to find out, you know. More than Ma, even. Because it hasn’t even been a year without him, and we’ve been dating for months already. Don’t you think it looks like we’ve been waiting? Or that it’s an emotional rebound, or something like that?”

“But it wasn’t like that. You know it wasn’t.”

“I know. But that doesn’t stop me from feeling guilty about it.”

Hansol shuffles forward to rest his forehead against Seungkwan’s. “Don’t feel guilty. You don’t need to. He was excited for us. If he were here, he’d be rooting for us like we were the main couple on his favourite drama.”

“He was always telling me to confess to you, you know. I feel guilty about that, too. He wanted to be here to see us happen, but I was too insecure to trust his judgement.”

“You’re tying yourself in knots right now. You can’t feel guilty about how things turned out when we’ve both just been doing our best with how things are.”

“I can’t help it. I miss him so much. I wish he could see us now. I wish we could see him.”

“Me too. But we already have his blessing. Don’t feel guilty for having something that makes you happy. You deserve it.”

“I’ll try,” he whispers, resting his palm against Hansol’s back. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Hansol says, voice soft in the quiet room.

Seungkwan buries his face in his chest, letting the sound of his steady heartbeat lull him to sleep.

-

2016.1.10 / Seongnam / Seungkwan

Sojeong holds his hand tight as they sit together in the waiting room, leaving him trying to blink away stray tears. The fact that Seokmin has surpassed an age anyone thought he would live to should be something to celebrate, something to feel grateful for, but it only makes every new chest infection scarier, more dangerous, adding new waves of dread to the constant hum of fear in the background of his life. Every time he’s here, he wonders if this hospital visit will be his last.

Hansol arrives eventually, taking the seat next to him and not saying a word. Seungkwan silently takes his hand, grounding himself between his best friend and his sister.

After a few minutes, he speaks up. “Have you heard anything?”

Seungkwan shakes his head, staring straight at the wall. “Just the usual.”

Then they don’t speak for a while, but stay holding hands, waiting.

He’s the first to spot Mr. Lee, approaching them down the hallway, and drags both of them to their feet when he stands quickly.

“Is he okay?” he asks, as Mr. Lee comes to a stop in front of him, putting his hands on his shoulders. “Can we see him?”

“I’ve come to get you. He wants to see you both,” Mr. Lee says, gentle as ever. “Come on. He’s in a room through here.”

Sojeong drops his hand and pats his shoulder. “You go ahead, Kwanie. I’ll wait here for you.”

“Come with us, Sojeong,” Mr. Lee offers. “You can come and eat with us while the boys are together, if you like.”

Seokmin is in one of the intensive care units, as usual, busy with patients and bustling nurses, but they weave their way to his bed without issue. There’s a big mask over his mouth and the clunky machines around the bed are wired up to him, beeping every so often. He seems tired, but his eyes smile when he catches sight of them, and Seungkwan wills himself not to cry again, but to smile back as best he can.

“Hi, you two. It’s good to see you,” Mrs. Lee says, standing to give them both a hug. “You know the usual rules. Not too much talking. Nothing too exciting. We’re past the worst of it, but his lungs still need draining. We’ll be back in about half an hour, okay?”

“No problem,” he says. “Hyung will look after us just fine.”

Seokmin gives them a thumbs up, and Mrs. Lee smiles, leaning down to kiss her son’s forehead. “He always does. We’ll see you soon.”

The Lees leave the room with Sojeong, who gives Seokmin a smile and a wave before she leaves.

“Well, we made it,” he says, taking the empty visitor’s chair beside the bed. It’s kind of noisy in here, and he has to raise his voice a bit to be heard. “I think Hansol had to fight our public transport system to do it, but we’re here.”

“Good,” Seokmin says, voice muffled behind the mask. “What would I do without you?”

“You’d be way more bored,” Hansol says.

He then proceeds to unzip his bag and tip the contents onto Seokmin’s bed. Out falls a game console, a Rubik’s cube, a packet of gum, a book, the bookmark that should be in the book, an old mp3 player, a packet of playing cards, and a booklet of half-finished crosswords. Some of this is routine, by now, Seokmin’s official Hospital Care Kit, but Hansol also adds new things every visit—to keep it fresh, he says.

“What does the mp3 player have on it?” he asks.

“I have no idea. Thought we could find that out, but I’m realising now that I might not have earphones. Hang on.” Hansol stands, and starts turning out his pockets.

“Useless, this one,” he says, turning to Seokmin. “Good heart, but nothing in his head.”

“Good thing you’re the brains of the operation,” Seokmin says. “Though your heart is pretty full, too.” He reaches up, thumbing the corner of Seungkwan’s eye. “Have you been crying again, Kwanie?”

“Crying? Me? I don’t know what you’re talking about. I never cry.”

“You don’t have to cry. You know me. I’m always okay.”

“Always,” he agrees. “Good thing I never cry, then, isn’t it?”

“What about me?” Hansol asks, adding a tangled pair of earphones to the pile on the bed. “Can I cry?”

“The day you cry, I think it might be the end of the world,” he says. “Can you even remember the last time you cried?”

Hansol shrugs. “I think it was… when we realised I’d left my favourite plushie back in America? Something like that.”

“So, over ten years ago? That’s unnatural. Are you secretly a robot or something?”

“Maybe I am. What’s it to you?”

“Can you pump my lungs with your robot hands?” Seokmin says, sitting up a little straighter. “It sucks when the hospital does it.”

“How much do I get for it?”

“You can keep all the mucus that comes up. It might be good for your robot joints.”

“Alright. Deal.”

“You’re both disgusting,” he tells them, and Seokmin giggles a little, genuine, but subdued enough to avoid a coughing fit. He sinks back into the pillows, and Seungkwan looks at the bags under his eyes.

“Did you get to watch last night’s episode of Goblin?” Hansol asks.

Seokmin shakes his head. “They don’t let me watch TV in the ICU.”

“I actually have it downloaded,” Hansol says. “If you wanted to watch it.”

Seungkwan looks at him. Every time he thinks he knows Hansol, he goes and pulls something new out of the bag. Makes him wonder if he does have a brain up there after all.

“Sounds fun,” Seokmin says, smiling.

“Alright, nerds. Let’s do it.” He stands from his seat to perch on the edge of Seokmin’s bed, careful not to sit on any wires, and Hansol settles on his other side, propping his phone up on Seokmin’s lap. Seungkwan hasn’t been watching Goblin, and they both know that, but he doesn’t mind watching with them if it’s what his boys want.

“Thank you for coming to see me,” Seokmin says, as the opening theme starts to play.

“Don’t thank us,” Hansol says. “Of course we came.”

Seungkwan rests his head against his shoulder. “We love you.”

“I know,” Seokmin says, resting his head back against Seungkwan’s. “I love you too.”

-

2017.9.14 / Seoul / Hansol

He strips off the greasy work shirt as soon as he’s in the backroom, stuffing it into his bag and pulling on the plain tee instead. The dinnertime rush had kept him working on for longer than he should’ve been, and now he’s going to have to run to make it to his evening class. He needs all the shifts he can get, but he’s going to have to turn down the afternoon ones if they’re all like this.

Thankfully, the bus comes on time, and he rides the whole route fighting down nerves as the bus meets red lights and busy lanes. When his building comes into sight, he rings the bell and dashes off the bus, and makes it to the door only two minutes late. With the course convenor being a relaxed woman in her mid-fourties, the class hasn’t even begun, and he’s welcomed with a smile rather than a reprimand. He smiles back, relieved, and takes a seat in the middle of the hall, waiting for her to begin. A lot of the introductory classes so far have been on things he already knows from his university modules, so the rush probably wasn’t all that necessary, but he’d hate to be too late. Music is the one thing he wants to work hard at, get better at.

Well, music, and being a good boyfriend. It’s been a while since his last relationship, and now that he and Seungkwan are sharing a space, things are starting to change. Being long distance was hard, and hanging out over the summer had been easy, but now they’re real adults, doing busy adult things. It means he’s seeing the pace of Seungkwan’s schedule first-hand—or rather, not seeing Seungkwan very much at all. He should suggest a date night, or something, so he gets to see his face at times that aren’t the end of the night, or first thing in the morning.

He looks down at his notebook as the teacher starts to talk. There’s some stuff in there already, a handful of experimental melodies and a lot of half-finished lyrics. He’s been attempting to write things that aren’t awfully depressing lately, but most of the time it’s what he ends up with regardless.

“How about your feelings for your boyfriend?” Jihoon had suggested with a half-smile, the first and only time they’d met. Seungkwan had left them together and under orders to talk about music while he stole bites of whatever Mingyu was cooking. “You could try writing him a song. That’s what I do when I need a new topic, or a new sound. Write songs for other people rather than myself.”

He turns over a new page, and thinks about Seungkwan. Write a song for him? Seungkwan likes singing power ballads and girl group songs. That’s not his style at all—nearly everything he’s written so far is meant to be rapped. He looks up at the example composition playing on the smart board, taps his pencil to his mouth. It can’t hurt to try new things. He’s always made a point of trying, at the very least.

So he jots down some lyrics, intermingled with notes from the lecture when he hears something new. He tries to put Seungkwan’s voice to them, but then it’s kind of weird to imagine Seungkwan singing about Hansol’s feelings. Eventually, the topic turns back to what it always does: missing someone, trying to move on.

At the end of the class, he packs up slowly, waiting until most of the other students have filtered out. When the room is near empty, he approaches his teacher, who smiles at him expectantly.

“Hey, there. Are you okay with everything?”

“Yes, I’m great, thank you,” he says. “Your classes are really good, really clear. I just wanted to ask you something about writing lyrics.”

“Shoot.”

“I was wondering if you have any tips for, like…it’s not writers block, really, but I can’t seem to write a wide variety of things. I feel like everything I put onto paper is really similar.”

“You want variety?” she says. “Keep practising. It’ll come with time.”

“Is that all I can do? Keep going what I’m already writing?”

She looks at him for moment. “If there’s something you’re trying to write over and over again, it probably really wants to be written. Listen to it. Give it a voice. Write it out, and then try your hand at something else. If you want to send me any demos you have, you know my email, right?”

“I do,” he says. “You’re saying I should just give in to it?”

“It’s not a bad thing to have a sound, and it’s definitely not a bad thing to put your heart into your music. How else will you create something true? New things will come with time, when you’re a new person.”

He likes the sound of that. A new him. “Thank you. Yeah… thanks.”

“No problem,” she says. “Have a good night, kid.”

The night bus is quiet, and so is the apartment when he steps into it, despite the late hour. He sets about making himself some ramen, watching the stove boil with an absent mind, in the middle of this empty kitchen, empty apartment.

“Hi,” Soonyoung’s voice says from behind him. He turns to see him stood there, lopsided smile and eyes half-closed like he’s been asleep.

“Hi. I didn’t know you were home. Didn’t wake you up, did I?”

“Nah. I was just being lazy. What are you making?”

“Ramen. Do you want some?”

Soonyoung grins and nods. Hansol smiles back, poking one of his puffy cheeks.

“Do you know where the other two are?” he asks, opening another packet of ramen.

“I think they have a volleyball society board meeting, or something. God knows how much you can talk about volleyball.”

“Oh, yeah. Seungkwan was saying something about needing new equipment last week. Perhaps they’re trying to get that sorted.”

Soonyoung shrugs. “You’d know better than me. I only see that kid during our radio slots, now.”

He makes a noncommittal noise. He sees him even less than that.

The door rattles open at that moment, Seungkwan himself stepping through with Mingyu at his heels, both loaded down with plastic bags.

Seungkwan sighs as he steps into the kitchen. “Is that ramen I smell? Thank God, I’m ravenous.”

“I don’t think there’s enough for three portions,” he says. “And Soonyoung already called the second potion.”

“We went shopping,” Mingyu supplies, immediately filling the countertop with the five plastic bags in his hands. “Hang on, we bought a load more packets. They’re in here somewhere.”

“If you both want some, I’ll need the other pan.” He nudges Mingyu’s leg so that he can open the cupboard by the oven, digging around for it.

“You’re a lifesaver,” Seungkwan says, opening the freezer to put away his half of the shopping. “Soonyoung, get out of the kitchen, there’s no space for four of us in here.”

“How do I know you won’t steal my ramen while I’m gone?” Soonyoung says, though he obediently turns and walks the two feet to the living room.

“Straight out of the boiling pot? I have actual self-preservation, you know, unlike you.”

Mingyu passes Hansol a stack of ramen packets. “Here they are.”

“Thanks,” he says, and gets to work on adding several portions to the second pan. “The first pan is actually nearly done, I can dish it out soon—”

“Don’t give it to your boyfriend! I got here first!”

“I just bought all your groceries for the week, Kwon Soonyoung, and you don’t even want me to eat?”

“You’re not going to starve, you can eat the ramen you’ve just bought,” Soonyoung says, taking the space Mingyu vacates to hover by Hansol’s shoulder. “I’ve been very busy sleeping all afternoon.”

An empty plastic bottle goes flying by his head, and Soonyoung laughs as it bounces from his shoulder, taking cover by Hansol’s side.

“You’re the worst roommate ever!” Seungkwan declares. “Why’d I agree to room with you for a second year?”

“Because you love me!” Soonyoung says, stealing his bowl as soon as it’s filled and scampering away to take cover behind their ratty sofa.

“What a menace,” Seungkwan mutters, and then his arms wrap around Hansol’s waist, delivers a kiss to his neck. “Hi. How was your day?”

“Mediocre,” he answers, “but better now.”

He doesn’t bring it up until later, when they’re properly alone, Mingyu in his bedroom and Soonyoung learning a routine in the living room. Seungkwan is brushing his teeth in their tiny, one-person bathroom, and Hansol squeezes in beside him, putting an arm around his waist as he reaches across for his own toothbrush.

“Hey,” he says, picking up the tube of toothpaste. “I miss you.”

Seungkwan spits into the sink. “I’m right here,” he says, sticking the toothbrush back in his mouth and looking at Hansol.

“I know,” he says, applying the toothpaste to his brush. “But I don’t see you. Feels like we had more time for each other when I was in California.”

Seungkwan brushes for another thirty seconds or so, and Hansol starts to brush his own teeth as he waits. After he spits and rinses out his mouth, he talks again.

“I know what you mean. I think I’ve overdone it, this year. I love having commitments, but I barely see you or the other guys at all.” He dries off his hands and rests against the sink, looking at him with tired eyes. “I don’t know what to drop, though. The school radio is important to me, but so is volleyball, and so is being student ambassador. I’m making things happen. I’m making things better. That’s what makes me feel good.”

He spits into the sink. “I know. I don’t want you to stop any of that.” Rinses out his mouth, turns off the tap, and stands up straight to face him. “But let’s make some time for each other, too. One night a week? Is there one thing you can drop?”

“Like a date night?”

“Yeah, like a date night.”

“I’m busy every day right now,” he says, scratching his head. “You know I hate letting people down.”

“What about Fridays?”

“That’s choir.”

“Wednesdays?”

“Theatre group.”

“Monday? I have an evening class, but we can always do something after that.”

“Monday is calligraphy club.”

“Seungkwan…” He reaches out to hold his waist with both hands, pulling him in close. “Don’t you think the calligraphy club can go?”

“I’m basically keeping that club alive,” Seungkwan says, pouting, but there’s a smile to his eyes. “They’d fall apart without me.”

“They don’t deserve you,” he says, kissing his pout. “You could out-write them any day.”

“How could you know that? You’ve never seen my best work.”

“But I still know you. Maybe you could show me sometime, do some pretty writing for me on Monday. You know, when we have our date night?”

Seungkwan rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling. “Okay. Looks like I’m going to have to watch Kookmin lose their trophy this year.”

“The calligraphy trophy? No offence, but I don’t think that one will be missed.” He turns the bathroom light off and slings his arms around Seungkwan’s shoulders, walking him back to their bedroom. “Your boyfriend will probably appreciate your time way more.”

“You think so?” Seungkwan says, turning around to pull them both onto the bed.

“I know so,” he says, pressing a quick kiss to his mouth.

“He’d better,” Seungkwan whispers, pulling him in for something deeper and slower, like they have all the time in the world.

-

2016.2.18 / Seongnam / Hansol

They’re not doing their usual party this year. Seokmin has barely recovered from the last chest infection, and is under doctor’s orders not to do anything too strenuous or exciting for fear of another lung collapse. Rather than their traditional eleven-person gathering, it’s just the three of them this year, sitting in the living room with Seokmin’s parents. Seokmin is wearing his cannula, and Mrs. Lee is passing him his gifts rather than letting him reach for them. Still, he has a smile on his face, and opens each new gift with good grace and excitement.

“Hansol! How did you know!” he exclaims, lifting the new Final Fantasy game up to the light.

“Other than the fact that you’ve been talking about it since it came out?”

“Okay, but I didn’t actually think you’d buy me it! How much was it?”

“You’re not supposed to ask that!” Seungkwan scolds.

“I wouldn’t tell anyway,” he grins. “Do you want it to start it together this weekend?”

“That sounds fun,” Seokmin says, beaming. “Though I don’t know if I can wait that long! Wow, I should’ve thought of this for you, too!”

“Overwatch was such a good choice, though! I’ve been wanting to play it for so long, I can’t wait to start!”

On the sofa, Mrs. Lee is whispering in her husband’s ear.

Seokmin catches her eye and grins. “Mom? Are you passing around secrets?”

“it’s nothing, don’t worry,” she says, standing up and passing by them, picking up a package from Seokmin’s gift pile as she does. “I think we have more Chicken Pops in the kitchen, shall I go and get them?”

“Wait, wait,” Seokmin says, making grabby hands at the parcel she has. “What is that?”

“Don’t worry about it,” she says, but Seokmin catches her hand, and she doesn’t try to pull away.

“Did you get me the same game?” he asks, laughing, taking the present from her easily. “It’s a very suspicious size.”

“You know, if you leave the film on, we can always return it for a different one.”

Seokmin takes the wrapping off, and sure enough, it leaves him holding an identical copy of Final Fantasy XV in each hand. He laughs, a pleased little giggle, then holds the second copy out to Hansol.

He looks at it, then back up at Seokmin.

“It’s okay,” Seokmin says. “Now we can both play.”

“No, really, you should take it back and swap it for a different game,” he says, but Seokmin places it in his lap without hesitation.

“I really want you to have it,” he says, smile bright. “I think that would be fun.”

He looks down at the game, the one he’d wanted to buy for himself so badly. He’d wanted to buy it for Seokmin’s birthday even more, no question about it, and had made his peace with saving up a little longer to buy his own copy. But now…

He looks up at Mrs. Lee, who smiles at him. “I think it’s a lovely idea.”

When he picks it up, the light bounces from the shiny new cover. “Thank you,” he says. “Seriously, Hyung, thank you. You’re too nice for your own good.”

“No, I’m just nice enough.”

“You’re very sweet,” Mrs. Lee says, kissing his forehead and finally moving away to the kitchen. “I’ll get us those snacks.”

“Seungkwan,” Mr. Lee says, gently. When he looks over, there are tears on Seungkwan’s cheeks, who startles at the call of his name.

“Y-yes?” he says, hastily wiping his face.

“Oh, Seungkwanie,” Seokmin says. “Did I move you that much? It’s just a game.”

“You boys and your stupid games,” he says, scrubbing at his eyes. “Where’d you get a heart like that?”

“Traded it for the bad lungs,” Seokmin jokes, and Seungkwan hiccups.

The rest of the party goes smoothly. A short card game, a movie, a round of happy birthday for the two of them, a hug at the end of the night. It’s not until he’s walking Seungkwan back to his apartment that he bursts into tears again, in the middle of the road, five minutes away from his apartment building.

“You keep doing that,” Hansol informs him, digging around in his pockets for a tissue. The one he comes up with is furry with age, and he decides to keep it to himself.

Seungkwan wipes his nose on his coat sleeve. “I know. I can’t help it. I keep thinking about how we’ll never meet someone like him again.”

“You wouldn’t want to though, would you? He’s special because he’s Seokmin.”

“No. I suppose not. But that makes it hurt more.”

“I know. But let’s try and enjoy the time we have left with him. It sucks when he’s sick, but at least we’re still together right now.”

Seungkwan nods, sighing. “We’ve had so many close calls, though. I’m so scared all the time. Every day I wake up and wonder if this will be the day I get the news. But at the same time, I can’t imagine that ever really happening. Especially to someone like him.”

“I know. Really, I get that.”

“You’re the only other person who does. He’s loved by a lot of people, but I like to think that we’re special. Maybe that’s presumptuous, but he is our best friend.”

“No, you’re right. You’re very special to him.”

“So are you.”

“There won’t be anything like the three of us again.”

“Yeah. That’s what I’m afraid of.”

“You’ll still have me. I’m not going anywhere.”

“You’d better not.”

“I couldn’t imagine it.”

They stop outside Seungkwan’s building. “Do you want to stay over? It’s kind of late.”

“Can’t. I’ve got to go home and finish Yang’s physics homework.”

“You didn’t finish it? It’s due first thing tomorrow! What were you thinking?”

“Seokmin is more important,” he shrugs. “Also, it is my birthday.”

“You need to learn better time management.”

“You’re one to talk.”

“I have never in my life stayed up after 1am doing physics homework. This one’s all on you.”

He steps back and waves. “Wish me luck, then.”

“Walk home safe,” he says instead. “Text me when you get back.”

“I will. Night.”

“Goodnight, Hansol. Happy birthday.”

He steps into the yellow light of the lobby, and Hansol sighs out a puff of white air, turning to take the walk home.

-

2018.1.15 / Seoul / Seungkwan

When he arrives at the restaurant after a long day on campus, Hansol is already there, surprisingly on time for their date. His boyfriend looks tired, but handsome as ever, waving him over once he spots Seungkwan in the entranceway.

“You made it,” he says, in lieu of a greeting, pushing his menu across the table.

“Did you think I’d ditch you?”

“For your own birthday celebration? You’d never.”

“The proper party is tomorrow, though. You said yourself that this is for date night, really.”

“Yeah, exactly. Like you’d miss a double celebration-date. You love that sort of stuff.”

“It’s a triple celebration, actually. It’s a year tomorrow since we officially ended our horrible fight.”

“Are we celebrating that, now?”

“Obviously. That phase was the worst six months of my life.”

Their waitress comes over to take their drinks order, and they decide to split a bottle of soju. Seungkwan fidgets in his seat as he looks down at the menu, trying to focus on the options.

“What is it?” Hansol asks, not looking up from his menu.

“What’s what?”

“What are you dying to say right now?”

“How do you know I’m dying to say anything?”

“I can tell. I could probably read your mind at this point.”

“You’re creepy sometimes. You’re not like, the Terminator, or something.”

“The Terminator doesn’t read minds.”

“Whatever. You know what I mean.”

“Just tell me already. I can tell you need to get it out.”

“I was going to wait until we ordered the food,” he says, sitting back and pouting. “I have news.”

“Like, news news?” Hansol sits up straighter, paying proper attention now.

It’s all he can do to bite his lip, trying to contain his smile. “Yeah, news news. It’s kind of crazy.”

“You have to tell me now. Come on, she probably won’t come and take our order for ages.”

He looks around for the waitress. Sure enough, she’s talking to a table of people across the room. Hansol is looking at him, waiting.

He leans closer over the table. “I think I’ve been scouted.”

“Scouted?” his brow furrows. “For what?”

“Hey! You don’t have to sound like that!”

“I didn’t mean it like that! You have too many hobbies for me to know which one you’ve been picked up for!”

“Like what?” he laughs. “I only do one thing seriously.”

Hansol frowns. “The radio show?”

“Bingo,” he says, and this time, he can’t contain his smile. “I got a call this afternoon. A guy from Bundang FM, telling me that they’ve been keeping track of me for a little while—someone heard me commentating on a game, then they followed up on the podcast, then found me on the Campus radio. Someone at the station is a fan, and they’d put my name forward to fill a free slot they have on a Monday.”

“Are you serious?”

“Deadly. At first I thought it was a scam, because how could that ever be real, right? So I ask for his name and he laughs and tells me I can come and meet them at the station sometime. That they’d be happy to walk me through their equipment, and do a trial run slot—”

“Wait, wait? You’ve really been offered a job with Bundang FM? The proper radio station?”

“I have an appointment to meet with them on Friday.” It sounds unreal even to him. “It’s real.”

“Seungkwan, this is huge. This isn’t just news news. This is like… a big break.”

“I mean, it’s just a two-hour slot in the middle of the day on a Monday—they want me to present obscure new songs and talk about debuting groups. I guess that’s why I was put forward. I end up talking about that stuff on the school radio half the time.”

“Shit,” Hansol says, leaning back in his seat. “You’re serious.”

“I’m serious! Hey, I know I’m just a student, but you don’t have to sound so amazed.”

“I’m not amazed that they asked you. You’re destined to be somewhere like that. I’m amazed that they even found you—what are the chances of that?”

It is kind of baffling. He’s having a hard time believing it himself. “Maybe things are finally turning our way again.”

“Wait, how the hell are you going to fit that in? Don’t you have classes all day on a Monday?”

“I can reschedule, ask to switch to the night classes for that module. It goes on kind of late, though. We’d have to change date night.”

“But the rest of your week is full, isn’t it?”

“I’m thinking of ditching choir. Everyone in there is too self-absorbed, anyway. How’s Friday for date night?”

“Seungkwan…”

Hansol is cut off by the arrival of their waitress, who takes their order and leaves again. Silence sits between them for a few seconds as they backtrack to their conversation.

“I know it’s a lot, but I really want to do this. These sorts of opportunities don’t just happen to people like me. They must really see something in me.”

“Of course they do. You’re good, really good, and you have exactly the knowledge they’re looking for. But don’t you think it might be too much?”

“No, I think I can do it. This is what makes me happy. I love working hard. I love having all these things I can do. I promise I’ll still make time for you. I can do it all at once.”

“It’s not a question of if you can. I’m asking if you should. Are you happy, Seungkwan?”

He sits back, looking at him. “That’s a loaded question.”

“Only to the unhappy.”

“I’m not…” he looks away, tapping on the table. “I’m not unhappy. I have you. I’m doing everything I’ve ever wanted to do. I miss Seokmin every day, but it’s bearable when I can focus on my life right now, rather than my life as it was two years ago. I’m not totally happy, but I’m getting there.”

“Do you think you’re running?”

“Running from what?”

“Reality?”

He pauses, taking the question in. “I think that… last year, I was, yes. I was doing anything I could not to think about home, and about missing you two. But things have been different since I started second year. Seoul feels like home, now. You’re here, and you feel like home, too. We see the Lees, we carry on with life. I’m not doing all this because I can’t face life, but because I want to experience it. I love everything I’m doing, and I want to do more of it. I want this Monday slot.”

He reaches his hands across the table to touch Hansol’s fingertips with his own. Hansol looks down, letting him slot their fingers together as he mulls through Seungkwan’s words.

Then, he nods. “I think I get it. This is what keeps you going, right?”

“Yes. It really does.”

“We’re pretty different in a lot of things. But if this is what you want, then I’ll support you.”

A genuine smile breaks out onto his face, and the tension he didn’t know he had leaves his shoulders. “Thank you.”

Hansol smiles back. He looks worn, but genuinely happy. “I’d support you in anything you wanted.”

“I know,” he says, and pulls back his hands, spying their dishes approaching their table. “So you’d better get ready to support me in stealing some of your Bulgogi right now.”

-

2016.4.19 / Seongnam / Seungkwan

He finds Hansol in the library completely by accident. He’d come up here to use the computers after school—the Wi-Fi here is always way faster than the connection at home—and Hansol is already in there, napping on a textbook. He makes his way over to him between the aisles of computers, and when Hansol still doesn’t stir, he does the only reasonable thing he can.

“Boo!” he hisses, jolting his shoulder.

Hansol jerks awake, holding up one arm defensively. Seungkwan laughs as he takes the seat next to him.

“The school day ended an hour ago, dummy. You can go home now,” he says, logging onto his computer.

Hansol sighs. “I told my parents I’d stay and study a bit before heading to Seokmin’s. It’s so boring, though. I wish I hadn’t agreed to it.”

“The summer exams are the most important ones in your school career. You should at least try.”

“I am trying. It’s the learning part that I can’t do.”

“What are you revising?”

“Algebra. It’s awful.”

“Yeah, I can’t help you there.”

“What are you doing, then?”

He brings up the website he’d been looking at only a few days ago, scanning the details of Kookmin’s entrance requirements again. “I came to research this university course I’m thinking about. The school have started asking me what my options are, but I still need to shortlist my university preferences.”

“Any ideas?”

“I’m definitely going for Kookmin. I’ll apply to Yonsei, even if I don’t have a chance of getting in. Maybe SNU… I don’t know, I’m not sure how competitive anthropology is. What about you?”

“All your choices are in Seoul?” Hansol asks, rolling his chair closer, equations abandoned. “Don’t you want to go further away?”

“No,” he laughs. “Why would I want that? It would only make it harder to come home and see my family. See you and Seokmin, too.”

“Isn’t that kind of the point? You study far away and make new friends?”

Seungkwan looks at him. “What are you talking about? You can make new friends and keep your old ones. Surely leaving Seokmin is the last thing you’d want to do right now?”

“Right now, yeah. But we’re six months away from starting university.”

“What does it matter? I’ll still want to come home, no matter what the situation is. All the good schools are all in Seoul anyway. What, were you thinking of going somewhere else?”

Hansol shrugs, avoiding his eyes, and starts mindlessly flipping through his textbook. “I don’t know what I want to study, but I was thinking of going abroad. I’d like to see America. Maybe New York, or California.”

“America?” He can hear his tone changing with the realisation that Hansol is serious. “Your best friend is on his deathbed and you want to up and haul halfway across the world?”

“Well, no, it’s not like I want to leave him. I might defer if it comes to it—a gap year wouldn’t be so bad. But I know I want to study in America, regardless.”

“Defer? What is he going to think if you tell him that? That you want to go abroad, but you’ll put it off until he’s out of the way?”

“It’s not like that,” Hansol says. “You know that. Why are you being like this? I already told Seokmin that I’m interested in American schools, anyway. He was super excited for me.”

He reels back. “You told him you’re planning on going to America? Are you crazy?”

“Why? They’re normal school plans, Seungkwan. I’ve always wanted to do it.”

“I really don’t understand you. You need to learn some responsibility.” He turns back to his computer, not looking at him. How could he think it was a good idea to tell Seokmin he was planning on leaving?

“Responsibility?”

“You should look at schools in this country, at least. You can visit California on holiday, you don’t need to live there. Don’t you think it’s better to stay closer to the people who need you here?”

Hansol is giving him a weird look. He can see it out of the corner of his eye, but he doesn’t turn to look at him properly.

“There are plenty of schools that do great courses here, and it’s not like we know Seoul super well—it’ll still be a new experience to move there. You can go to America in the future. If you’re in Seoul, it’ll be way easier to come back and see Seokmin when we need to.”

Hansol stands, picking up his textbook. “I’ll see you at Hyung’s.”

Seungkwan finally looks at him. “I thought you were studying?”

“I’m done,” he says, walking away through the rows of screens. “See you later.”

He can tell Hansol is frustrated with him, taking the easy way out of the conversation. It doesn’t matter. He’ll cool off and come around.

“Fine,” he says. “See you later.”

The interactive map for Kookmin’s campus looks awesome, all big and modern. He wonders if they allow students to choose who they live with—if he could make Hansol interested, maybe they could room together.

-

2018.3.25 / Seoul / Hansol

“It’s currently 2:02pm and you’re listening to the Bundang FM’s weekly wrap up with Boo Seungkwan,” Seungkwan says into his mic, hands carefully splayed over the equipment in front of him. “I’ve got an interesting line-up for you this week—we’ve got the debut mini-albums from Honey Popcorn and Stray Kids, with new releases from a wide array of other artists. I’ll be playing some of those for you now, starting with my personal favourite. This new song from Kim Dongryul is a beautiful listen if you’re settling back into work after your lunch break. It’s certainly in line with his past releases, but he knows how to make the most of his voice. Here it is now— _That’s the way it is_ by Kim Dongryul.”

He slides up a switch, presses a button, and Hansol can hear the song fade in through his headphones. He’s doing his best to sit in the corner and be unobtrusive while the few staff members in the office monitor Seungkwan’s show, but they’ve been way too nice to him, letting him sit by their monitors and listen in on the show. He’s supposed to be here to observe, but no one seems to mind his interest in the process.

He meets Seungkwan’s eyes through the window, who’s already looking over at him, all happy eyes and bright smile. He’s come so far since his first week here, when nerves had made him forget lines, rush into things, mix up cues. In just a few months, he’s talking like a professional, acting like he’s been here for years. That’s how Seungkwan is, though. He throws himself into everything he does, adapts as quickly as possible, and wants to be the best. Practises until he has it perfect. Hansol secretly thinks he’ll be asked back for a bigger slot once his contract is up, but he won’t say that yet. Maybe he’ll get an offer. Maybe not. Either way, he’s ridiculously proud of him.

It’s the first time he’s actually been invited to the office to see the show, but he listens every week that he can, asks for the station on during his shift or listens in the apartment if he’s at home. He feels like he’s been with Seungkwan every step of the way, but being here makes him realise how much he’s missed. The atmosphere of the studio is different, a little tense, mostly quiet, staff talking to each other in low voices despite the screen between their area and Seungkwan’s little studio space. It’s professional in here. Peaceful. He can see why this slot is so important to him.

“That was _That’s the way it is_ by Kim Dongryul, followed by Kisum’s _It’s Okay_. These are two brand new tracks only released yesterday, and we’ll be tracking back the week’s releases as we work through the next two hours. It’s been a bountiful week for new music, so I hope you’re all strapped in and ready.”

“What’s that you’re doing?” He murmurs to a staff member who’d been nice to him earlier. She’s clicking around, but nothing is changing in Seungkwan’s audio.

“Queuing things up for him. This one is your track, right?” Sure enough, she’s pointing at his file, queued up amongst other songs and station audio files.

“Yeah, that’s the one.” It’s hard to believe they’ve been allowed to go through with this. He breathes in, and watches her place the file at the top of the queue.

“Before we go ahead with the weekly wrap up, I hope you’ll indulge in something out of schedule for a few minutes. The staff here have been kind enough to let me have five minutes of this slot today, because I’m marking 650 days since the death of someone very close to my heart. He loved to sing, and he loved to entertain, so it felt right to come on here and dedicate a little time to him. I would love more than anything for him to be here to enjoy this with me, but he had a disease that took him away at a young age, almost two years ago now. I miss him every day, and think of him always. A very close friend of ours wrote this song in dedication—a very beautiful song, and the two of us recorded on it. We’re both rookies at this sort of thing, but I hope you’ll hear the lyrics and think about any loved ones you might have lost, or anyone you’re missing right now. I hope it can bring you comfort in the same way it’s brought us comfort.”

Seungkwan takes a deep breath and fiddles with the equipment. The opening notes of their song start to play over national radio, and he turns in his chair, looking over at Hansol with shining eyes. He looks back, smiling a little, listening to the lyrics Seungkwan is crooning through the track as if it’s his first time hearing them. The song is something he’s been working on for a long time, reworking and rewriting, trying to get it right, to sound like something that Seokmin might sing and enjoy. To hear it in its finalized form, going out to the masses, makes it sound new. It makes him feel proud.

_If I’m given a second life,_

_I may live and breathe differently compared to now._

_Among the streets, we’ll walk past each other without knowing._

_I hope we remember each other._

_Even in our next life,_

_Even at that time,_

_I’ll go to you._

Seungkwan is listening too, eyes glazing over in front of his monitor. They’ve both listened to this a thousand times over, rerecorded it half as many times, but hearing it now is different. Now, they’re playing it for Seokmin. He closes his eyes, loses himself in the music. It’s sampled from a song he loves, another song that reminds him of Seokmin. The whole thing was made with him in mind, and he’s proud of the result, proud of the way they’d both worked and worked until it was perfect, for themselves and for their Hyung. In the studio, Seungkwan is leaning forward, blinking rapidly and dabbing at the corner of his eyes. Then he starts pushing switches, and the end of the song fades out, Seungkwan’s voice fading back in over it.

“We’ve been calling that song _Second Life_. My collaborator, Vernon, has put it up on his SoundCloud under that name, if you want to find it again. Lee Seokmin, we miss and love you. We’ll be back to see you soon. If you’re listening right now and you’ve been missing someone lately, I hope you’ll send them a text, or make plans to see them. Life is short, and we should live it fully. We’re going to move on now, to the new Lee Hyun Kyung single from last week, produced as part of his new project…”

He sits back in his seat to watch the show. Thinks about the Seungkwan and Seokmin he’d first met, all those years ago. The Hansol he was then, too. How far life has taken them.

-

2016.6.12 / Seongnam / Hansol

Seokmin is back in hospital again. The sterile walls and busy hallways are familiar to him at this point, though he himself has never been admitted to hospital. He only knows it this way—sitting in a hard guest chair, doing as much of the talking as he can as Seokmin does his best to keep up. He dozes off a lot, too reliant on the drugs in his system and too tired of fighting infections. Hansol doesn’t blame him; he’s been doing this for a long nineteen years. So he sits, and lets him sleep, and tries to focus on reading over his notes instead.

It’s not long until someone drops into the opposite guest chair. Seungkwan looks equally as tired and twice as harried; between Seokmin’s ill health and their hectic exam schedule, it’s been a long while since they’ve done anything fun, or since the three of them have even properly been together.

“How long has he been asleep?” he asks quietly, though there’s no real need. Seokmin could sleep through an earthquake.

“He’s been in and out since I got here.”

“How long have you been here?”

“Since school let out.”

Seungkwan looks down at Seokmin, mouth downturned and eyelids heavy. “Okay. God, it’s been the worst day. How did you find the exam earlier?”

“Terrible. Don’t ask me about it.”

“Yeah, I didn’t even reach the last few questions.” He sighs and droops against the backrest of the chair, shutting his eyes.

Hansol goes back to his notes. He’d been reading the same line on a loop when Seungkwan had arrived, and he still has no idea what it means. His eyes aimlessly slip from his notes to stare at the white sheets of the bed.

“I want to sleep,” Seungkwan murmurs. “But I have so much studying to do. I know I need to study, but I’d much rather be with Hyung. Now I’m here, with Hyung… and I feel like I could fall asleep.”

“I’ll wake you up if he comes around.”

“I should really study too.”

“No offense, but you look like you need the sleep more.” He finally gives up on the notes, stuffing them back into his bag.

“Just talk to me about something to keep me awake.”

“I wish I could. I think my brain is fried from the past few weeks.”

“Didn’t you—”

Seungkwan is cut off by a sudden convulsion from Seokmin, who wrenches his mask from his face to let out a long, hacking cough, his lungs rattling in his chest. Hansol is already on his feet, ready to grab a nurse, but Seokmin reaches out to grab him, shaking his head. He gags once, tears in his eyes, and then the coughing recedes. He spits into a tissue, and puts a hand to his chest as he steadies his breathing.

He turns to Hansol with red eyes and flushed cheeks. “Water?”

“Yeah,” he says, taking one of the plastic cups from the side table and backing away from the bed. “I’ll be right back.”

He weaves through ICU staff to find the water fountain in the hallway, filling the cup with unsteady hands. When he returns, a nurse is by Seokmin’s side, checking over him and securing his mask again.

“If you start to feel worse, let us know as soon as possible, alright?”

“Can you ease it off, actually?” Seokmin asks in a small voice, pointing at the IV drip. “I want to stay awake for a bit.”

She goes over to fiddle with the drip. “Alright. I’ll be around with your next dose in an hour, okay?”

“Yeah,” he says, pushing himself up against his pile of pillows. “Thank you.”

She leaves them, and Hansol hands Seokmin the water. He pulls the mask down again to sip from his drink, looking at them both over the rim as he does.

“Hey, you scared the life out of me,” Seungkwan says, grasping his hand. “I thought you were asleep!”

“I was,” Seokmin smiles, placing the cup on the side and fixing his mask back into place. “When did you get here?”

“Not long ago. I should’ve come sooner, but the exam this afternoon was awful, and then Mrs. Jeon wanted to see me about some university bullshit—”

“It’s okay. You’re here now, and exams are important.”

“They’re nothing, really.”

“Child torture,” Hansol agrees.

“You’ll be free of them soon,” Seokmin says, voice raspy, breath short. His eyes flutter shut, and he pries them open again. “I think she actually turned my drip up, you know.”

“She’s taking care of you,” Seungkwan says, stroking the back of his hand with his thumb.

“I’d rather be awake,” Seokmin murmurs, voice a little slurred. “The drugs confuse me.”

“Not so different from your normal state then,” Hansol jokes, but his heart isn’t in it. Seokmin gives him half a smile anyway.

“Love you guys,” he says, holding out a hand for Hansol too. He takes it without question. “Will you promise me?”

“Promise what?” Seungkwan asks.

Seokmin breathes in, breathes out, and looks over at him. “Won’t forget me?”

“Of course not,” Hansol says, clasping his hand between both of his. “How could we ever?”

“Good. And promise to… be together?”

“We will. We’ll be friends for a long time. The three of us are together for life, right?”

“Right,” Seokmin smiles, eyelids clicking shut. “M’glad.”

“Promise you won’t forget us either?” Seungkwan says, voice raspy. A tear slides down the side of his nose.

“Promise,” Seokmin says, hand lax in Hansol’s. “Never ever.”

His heartbeat slows, but remains steady. He slips back into sleep, and Hansol slumps back into his chair.

-

2018.6.12 / Seongnam / Seungkwan

He wrestles with his key in the front door for a good minute or two before he’s able to wrench it open, only to find Jinseol on the other side of it, lounging in front of the TV.

“Sup,” she says. “I was hoping it was you being incompetent and not a home invasion.”

“You’re one to talk about incompetence,” he bites back, holding the door open for Hansol, who quietly thanks him. “You couldn’t even stand up to let us through the front door?”

“You already had your key out,” she shrugs. “Why are you blaming me? It’s not like anyone else came rushing to your aid.”

“You’re the only one home!”

“Nope. Ma’s in the shower and Sojeong’s asleep.”

“Is Running Man really more important than your only brother?”

“Do you even have to ask?”

“Seungkwan? You’re finally here?” Ma appears from the bathroom in her pyjamas and night robe, hair up in a towel. “I thought you’d arrive in the afternoon! I was waiting for you!”

She pulls him in for a hug, and he goes easily. “Sorry, we got held up in Seoul. I did text you.”

“Oh, I don’t look at that thing. Come here, Hansol.” She gives Hansol a hug too, and he gently reciprocates.

“Hi, Ma.”

“You two are looking thin. Are you eating well?”

“As well as you might expect. I’m sure you’ll feed us better, though.” He moves up the hallway to his bedroom, throwing their bags inside and quickly surveying the untouched room.

Sojeong emerges from her doorway as he does, hair a mess and eyes half-lidded, crowding the hallway when she comes in for a hug too. “Look who showed up. It’s good to see you, Kwan.”

“You too,” he sighs, resting his chin on her shoulder. “It’s good to be home.”

“Hi, Hansol.”

“Hey, Noona.”

“Hansol, I can set up the sofa bed for you,” Ma says. “You two don’t have to share that little bed anymore.”

“It’s fine, really. We can make do,” Hansol protests, but she waves him away.

“You’re both far too big for that bed now, and besides, I’m sure you’d prefer your own space. Move off, Jinseol, I’ll get it ready.”

“I’m watching Running Man!”

“Ma,” he says. “He said it’s fine. We’re fine.”

“Don’t you think you’re both a bit old for sharing a bed now, Seungkwan?”

“No. We’re used to it.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. When was the last time you two shared a bed? It must be years ago, now.”

He bites his lip, and suddenly decides that he’s far too tired to do this dance. It’s been too long.

“It was last night, actually.” Hansol’s eyes are boring into the back of his head, but he doesn’t turn around.

Ma stops in her harrying of Jinseol to turn and look at them. “What? Why? Don’t you have your own beds in your apartment?”

“Honestly, Ma,” Sojeong says, leaning against the wall. “Haven’t you figured it out by now?”

He whips around to look at her. “What? You already know?”

“Well, yeah. You guys are kind of obvious about it.”

“About what?” Ma asks.

“You’re kidding,” Jinseol says, eyes glinting as she looks between the two of them.

He swallows and looks back at Hansol, who nods at him with a small smile. Well then. No time like the present.

“Hansol and I have been dating each other for over a year.”

There’s a beat of silence. And then,

“Wait, only a year?”

“Yes! I always knew you were gay!”

“Dating?”

He focuses in on Ma. “Yeah. Dating.”

She abruptly sits next to Jinseol, who looks to be on the verge of hysterical laughter. “Hansol?”

“Yes.”

“For over a year?”

“Yes. About sixteen months, actually.”

Ma looks at them both, opens her mouth, then clamps it shut again. Furrows her brow, and says, “I see.”

He blinks rapidly. “I hope you’ll support us.” It comes out as a whisper.

She clasps her hands together, nodding to herself. “I suppose I should’ve seen this coming, shouldn’t I?”

“It’s not a bad thing, you know,” Jinseol says. “Didn’t you always say you’d like Hansol for a son? Now he might as well be.”

Hansol slings an arm around his shoulders, supportive and solid at his side. “I’d love to be a part of the Boo household,” he says, and Sojeong smiles at him.

“You always have been.”

“I suppose, if it were anyone, I’m glad it’s you,” Ma says, standing from the sofa and coming over to them. She cups Seungkwan’s face with one hand, Hansol’s with the other. “Dating. Who would’ve thought it?”

“I thought it,” Sojeong says. “I thought it had been going on for years. You’re telling me the whole America spat wasn’t a lovers quarrel?”

“A pre-lovers quarrel,” he says, not looking away from Ma.

She pulls him in for another hug, and he squeezes his eyes shut, holding her back. “Don’t be so afraid,” she says, smoothing down his hair. “You’re still my son. I love you very much.”

Some of the heavy weight on his chest eases, and he leans back, only to find Hansol’s shoulder right behind him. He rests his head there, and can’t help but smile at her, throat choked up. “Thanks, Ma. I love you too.”

“And you,” she says, looking Hansol up and down. “I hope you’re treating him right.”

“Ma!”

“I’m doing my best,” Hansol says, but he’s smiling, and so is Ma. “He has high standards.”

“It’s to be expected. He’s a Boo,” she says, patting Seungkwan’s cheek again. “You’re a good boy. I wish you had told me sooner.”

“I was so scared,” he says, and Ma shakes her head at him.

“You’ll always be my kid. And I’ve got two daughters who can give me grandkids.”

“Hey!”

“I’m not planning on having any tiny brats. You’re going to have to hope they adopt from abroad.”

Ma dismisses them both with a wave of her hand. “Hansol, you’re still welcome to have the sofa bed, you know. Seungkwan’s old bed really is too small for the both of you.”

“I think we’ll be just fine,” Hansol says, pulling him closer, a smile in his voice. “Thank you, though.”

“Alright. At least have something to eat, won’t you?”

They’re pulled into the living room to eat, though Hansol excuses himself early to wash up. He’s grateful for the bit of time alone with his family—it’s been a while since he last saw them like this, and it’s easy to talk over bowls of delicious seafood salad and marinated crab. He’s missed home.

He washes up late, drowsy with the hour when he finally gets to his bedroom. Hansol is already laid out on the bed, scrolling through his phone.

“Budge up,” he says, putting his hands on Hansol’s hips to roll him closer to the wall.

“Have we grown since we last did this? I don’t remember your bed being this small.”

“Don’t let Ma hear you, or you really will be exiled to the sofa bed. It’s a horrible thing.”

“I’ll take my chances with your single, then.”

“We’ll fit fine if we cuddle.”

“It’s the middle of June. Do you really want to?”

“Don’t you love spooning with me?” He fits himself against Hansol’s back, throwing an arm around his middle and kicking the blankets down as they settle together.

“Not if it means sweating to death.”

“And you call me dramatic.”

Hansol shuffles, turning around to face him. The low light of the lamp is the only light in the room, and it bounces from his cheeks and the smooth skin of his forehead. “Only when you really are being dramatic.”

“It’s in my blood. I can’t help it.”

He smiles. “Speaking of. That went pretty well, right?”

He leans forwards the slightest bit, and their noses touch. He nuzzles against him, and Hansol laughs. “Yeah, I suppose so. She came around much quicker than I expected. I really think it’s because I’m dating you, though. If I’d brought any other guy home, she’d be completely thrown.”

“Good thing you’re stuck with me for life, then.”

“You’re so unhelpful. And cheesy.”

“Don’t be mean.”

“I’m not mean. It’s true.”

Hansol pouts at him, a rare show of aegyo. “That hurts.”

He rolls his eyes, but leans forwards, pressing little kisses to his mouth until he stops pouting. It’s easy to coax him into reciprocation, and then they start to kiss properly, his thumb slowly stroking the skin of Hansol’s cheek. Planting both hands on the bed, he shifts to hover over him, enjoying the slow kisses, the warm proximity. He only pulls away when his arms start to shake, resting his head on Hansol’s chest with a sigh. Hansol puts a hand on his waist, the summer heat making them both pliant.

“This bed is pretty small,” he murmurs. “Remember when all three of us would sleep here?”

“We were very young, then. A lot smaller. And I did end up on the floor by morning.”

He snorts. “That’s right, you did. You didn’t even wake up, though.”

“Seokmin said he did. Do you remember? He said he woke up when I fell to the floor, but then he rolled over and went back to sleep again. Unbelievable.”

“He probably thought it was a dream. He was so funny, half-asleep.”

“He was always funny. But especially half-asleep.”

“Mm.”

The two of them fall quiet for a few minutes, Hansol’s fingertips tracing aimless patterns on his side.

When he speaks up again, his voice is soft. “Are you ready to see him tomorrow?”

“Not really. I never enjoy going to the cemetery. It always makes me feel heavier. But I do like bringing him flowers. It’s nice to pick out the ones he’d call pretty.”

“You’re good at looking after him, even now.”

“I know. I try. He deserves only the best.”

Hansol does fall asleep soon after that, chest falling into a steady rhythm under him. Seungkwan stays awake for a while longer, enjoying the peace and quiet of the apartment, of lying here with Hansol. Tomorrow will mark two years since the death of his best friend. He feels like he’s lived a whole lifetime since then; he also feels like they were only hanging out yesterday. He can never decide which one it is.

After a while, he slips out of bed and pads over to the bookcase. His lamp is still glowing, so it’s easy to pick out Seokmin’s scrapbook from the shelf. Under the orange light, it looks older than it is.

He hasn’t looked at this properly since he’d been given it, and he smooths over the cover gently, sitting against the side of his bed as he opens the book with bated breath. The first page has Seokmin’s name stuck into it, and he recognises his own handwriting—it was one of his early calligraphy attempts, when he’d been writing anything he could onto any piece of paper around him. He must have saved one of his many attempts at Seokmin’s name. It makes him smile, and he carefully traces his fingers over the lettering.

Slowly, he leaves through pages of stuck-in photos, scribbled notes of small memories, cinema tickets from trips together. There’s a double spread dedicated to their Xcalibur trip, complete with faded ticket, the pictures they’d taken, a list of the things they’d eaten together that day. There’s even a carefully penned track list of his favourite songs from the show, decorated with tiny hearts and smiley faces and the odd sword doodle.

The volleyball game is a few pages along, ticket stuck down above Seokmin’s sketch of the players in action. There’s a collection of tickets for movies they’d seen together over the years, alongside neatly taped rows of train tickets for Seoul and back. In the middle of the book, there are several pages of glossy printed pictures, nearly all depicting the three of them together—old developed photographs by their parents, digital camera print-outs of them as tweens, dumb selfies and surprise pictures they’d taken over the last few years. There’s a blurry set of Seokmin laughing as Seungkwan gives the camera a deadpan look; a polaroid of the three of them with Sofia at Lotte world; several strips of photobooth pictures, all taken at their favourite arcade. In the middle, there’s a photo of their three families together, from the first time they’d done the double birthday party. Towards the end of the book, though, the pages transition into more diary entries and silly doodles.

 _My friends came over and threw me a prom party. It was so much fun!_ Three stick figures dance along the top of his words.

 _Went for a walk and_ _saw a puppy in the park, but Mom said I couldn’t take him home._

_Played Overwatch with Hansol today, and Seungkwan said he liked the song I recommended him._

There’s even _Had my first kiss with Seungkwan… it was weird and kissing is overrated._

When he turns over the last page, an envelope slips out and lands on his lap. His name is written on the front in Seokmin’s scrawled handwriting, still sealed and untouched, just as it had been when Mrs. Lee had first given it to him. He picks it up now, slowly turning it over.

It’s been two years. He misses him so much, but he loves him even more.

He slips his finger under the tab, and carefully pries the envelope open.

_My Dearest Seungkwan,_

_I hope you’ve not used too many of your tears on me recently. You’re allowed to cry a little bit, but not too much, okay? It’s important to stay hydrated and healthy!_

_I miss you already, and I love you very much. I know things are hard for us all right now, but they will get better. I’ve decided I’m going to look after all the angel puppies in heaven, so you don’t need to worry about me! I’m going to give them so much love, and get so many puppy hugs back <3_

_Please look after yourself well, and remember to look after Hansol, too. He might not talk about it much, but he also needs support. And I hope you’ll still see my parents sometimes! You’re like family, after all._

_I know you guys have a lot of good times waiting for you in the future. I hope you don’t forget your promise to ask Hansol on a date! But also know that you will be happy and loved, no matter what happens. You deserve to live a very happy life, just like the one you gave me._

_I’ll see you again one day, and you’ll have to catch me up on everything that I missed. As long as you live well, I will be happy too._

_I love you._

_Seokmin-hyung xxx_

A teardrop lands on the paper, and he carefully wipes it away, smiling despite his blurred vision. Seokmin always was kind, more than anything, right up until the last moment. He only hopes to one day be half as good as his Hyung.

He slides the book back into its space on the shelf and turns off the lamp. Carefully lays down next to Hansol, legs entangled, resting there until their heartbeats match.

After a little while, he drifts off to sleep.

-

\---- / ---- / Seokmin

He groans and stretches out along the bed, his body feeling surprisingly well rested, chest pains totally gone. When he cracks open one eye, he can see the blurred outline of someone waiting by his bed, a lone figure against white walls. It’s strangely quiet in the ICU today.

“You’re still here?” he murmurs, though he has no idea how much time has passed since he was last awake. “Go home and sleep, Mom. I’m okay.”

“I’m fine, thanks,” Lee Chan says.

Seokmin opens his eyes again. “Chan?” He sits up quickly, wiping away sleep and staring at him. “What are you doing here?”

“I’ve come to collect you.”

Now that he’s properly awake, it’s obvious that he’s not in the ICU anymore. The room seems about the same size and shape, and he can see the familiar Seongnam landscape through the windows—but there are no nurses bustling about, no patients groaning in their beds, no loud machines beeping in his ear. There’s nothing here, actually, apart from himself, his bed, and Lee Chan, looking at him expectantly.

“Wait,” he says, putting a hand to his chest. He’s breathing perfectly fine, and his lungs feel strangely light. “Am I dead?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.” He hugs himself, frowning at Chan. “I’m going to be honest, the fact that you’re here is more surprising. Are you an angel? Or a grim reaper, or something? Wait… have I been seeing dead people all along? No, that can’t be right, the others knew about you too—”

“The important thing is that I’m here to help you,” Chan interrupts. “Do you have any unfinished business? Is there anything you want to see?”

“See? Like the Eiffel tower? Can I see that if I’m dead?”

Chan blinks at him. “I’m talking about something from your life. Anyone you’re left wondering about?”

“Ah.” He smiles, bashful. “Definitely. I want to see my parents. How do they get on? Are they okay? And my friends—how do things turn out for them?”

“Some very standard choices, there. But that’s no problem. I can show you those things.” Chan stands, holding out a hand to him. “Let’s go and see them, shall we?”

Seokmin looks down at his offered hand. “So… I really am dead?”

“Afraid so, Hyung. This isn’t the end, though.” He wiggles his fingers. “Come with me.”

He looks around the room again. It’s still empty and quiet, nothing else here but them. He’s certainly not in the hospital anymore. His lungs have finally killed him, and Lee Chan is his guardian angel in death, apparently. “Alright. Show me.”

He takes Chan’s hand, and then they’re sat on a bench in Yuldong park. He knows this bench; it’s one of his favourite stops along the main walk here, facing the deep green trees that run alongside the lake.

“Oh, we’re here!” he says, peering around. “Have you ever been to this park? Dog walkers love it, you can meet loads of dogs here!”

“I know,” Chan says, pointing ahead. He follows his gaze to see his mom and dad walking along the path together, arm in arm. There’s an energetic brown dog walking with them, pulling on the leash his dad is holding, investigating every nearby flower patch and running ahead to greet every passing dog.

“They got a dog!” he exclaims. “A real dog! What’s he called? Oh, this is amazing!”

“Coco!” Mom calls, and the puppy bounds away from his interesting patch of grass to trot beside them again.

“He really is their puppy! I didn’t think they’d ever get a dog!”

Chan smiles gently. “Yeah. They’re good at filling quiet houses.”

Seokmin looks over at him. “Oh. I suppose so.”

They watch as his parents pass by, Coco’s enthusiasm unhindered by the chilly wind.

He bites his lip, holding onto the bench. “Is this the only day you can show me, Chan? Is this the best there is to see?”

Chan tilts his head thoughtfully. “There are other happy times. But I can’t pretend things aren’t hard for them. Losing a child is one of the most painful experiences in the world.”

He looks back at his parents, now pulling away down the path, his mom’s scarf blowing over her shoulder. “Yeah. I know.”

“You’ll like the next place more.”

“Seungkwan and Hansol? They’re okay?”

Chan smiles again. “Let me show you.”

They link hands again, and a big hall takes shape around them, chairs and tables and a host of guests filling the venue. The room is busy, decorated beautifully, bustling with people in pretty dresses and new suits. He’s standing by a long table covered in a delicate white tablecloth, flowers and place cards set along it. He can see Sojeong and Sofia sat in two of the chairs, talking easily, wearing soft pink dresses and matching flowers in their hair.

“Have you seen my Mom?” Hansol’s voice says behind him, and he turns to see his best friend, hair styled and suit sharp. He’s approaching Seungkwan, who’s talking with a blonde man wearing a silk shirt.

“Ah, I think she went upstairs to check out the balcony,” Seungkwan says.

“Thanks. Mingyu wants us outside for the family photos soon, so you’d better round up your lot too.”

“Okay, I’ll do that. I hope Jinseol isn’t sipping liquor behind the building.”

“Wow,” Seokmin says, looking between them. Seungkwan is also dressed to the nines, both of them looking several years older than the last time he’d seen them. Over Hansol’s shoulder, he spots a three-tier white cake on the table, the icing figures of two grooms on top. “They’re… they’re getting married?”

Chan leans back against the table. “Yep. Didn’t invite me though, the bastards.”

“Oh, Mrs. Lee!” Seungkwan calls, and Seokmin’s mom turns to face him.

“Seungkwan?”

“The photographer wants us outside for family photos soon,” he explains. “I was wondering if you and Mr. Lee would come out and join us for some of them?”

His mom’s smile grows slowly, and then all at once. “Are you sure, Seungkwan?”

“Positive. You’re our family too, after all.”

“Oh,” Seokmin says, softly. “I missed a lot, huh?”

“He did what you asked,” Chan says. “The date was worth it. At least he paid you your dues for it.” He gestures to a chair behind him, moving aside so Seokmin can see.

The chair is empty, place undisturbed, unlike the bags and jackets left around on the other seats. The place card on the table reads, _Lee Seokmin, Best Man_.

He smiles wide, covering his mouth with one hand, looking back at Seungkwan. “They left me a seat? I… they made me best man? After all this time?”

“Of course they did. Did you expect any less?”

Hansol reappears with his mom on his arm, beckoning Sofia and Sojeong to come outside with them. “Our photographer calls!”

“Ma said that Jinseol snuck off with Seungcheol a little while ago,” Seungkwan says, rolling his eyes. “God knows where they got to.”

“I think I might know, actually. I’ll go and find them,” Sojeong offers, turning in the other direction as Sofia and Mrs. Chwe head outside.

“You’re a lifesaver!” Seungkwan calls after her, and Hansol laughs.

“Who knew those two would hit it off?”

“I worry for Seungcheol. She’s a force to be reckoned with.” Seungkwan takes one of Hansol’s hands, pulling him in close. “I told you we should’ve just eloped.”

“Ma never would’ve forgiven me. If I can’t give her grandkids, at least I can give her a good wedding.”

“It’s our wedding, not hers.”

“It’s half ours, at best.”

“Nope, she’s not having this one. It’s our wedding. I asked the Lees to join us for the family photos, by the way. That okay?”

“Of course it is. It wouldn’t feel right, otherwise.”

“Yeah. I thought so too.” Seungkwan turns his head, looks right at Seokmin. He stares back, adrenaline spiking for a second—then he steps aside, realises that Seungkwan is looking at his empty chair. “Wish he could see us now.”

“He knows. I’m sure of it. He always did.” Hansol presses a kiss to his mouth, then hails his dad, who comes into view across the room. “Chwes are assembled. Hopefully Sojeong will be able to extract Jinseol.”

“If anyone can, it’s her. I’m going to go and find the Lees again.”

“See you out there.”

Seungkwan salutes, and they both turn in opposite directions. Seungkwan throws one last look at Seokmin’s chair before he leaves, giving it a small smile.

“They’re happy,” Seokmin says, feeling lighter than he ever did in life. His friends have grown this much; they’re getting _married_. “They really got this far. I’m so happy for them.”

“They did. And you’re still impacting their life, even now. You’ve done well, Lee Seokmin.”

He smiles, watching Sojeong and Jinseol reappear through the back door. Through the window, he can see the Chwes grouping together for their first picture. “Thank you. So have they. I hope they get to tell me all about it sometime.”

“You’ll see them again,” Chan says. “For now, are you ready to carry on?”

“Can’t I stay a bit longer?”

He shakes his head. “I’m sorry. It’s time for you to go.”

He looks around the big hall again, so warm, so full of life. Seungkwan is walking back across the room, leading Seokmin’s parents to the main door, smiling and chatting. When they step outside, the sun makes them glow.

Despite it all, things are okay. His best friends are happy, and his parents are cared for. That’s all he’d ever wanted for them.

“Alright,” he says. “Let’s go.”

He offers his hand out, and Chan takes it firmly. Together, they go on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for getting to the end! i hope you enjoyed, that you're safe and well right now, that maybe this gave you a bit of catharsis. out of interest, was anyone using the playlists? i sometimes have songs i strongly associate w my works and i thought it would be nice to share them this time.
> 
> if you liked this, pls leave a kudos/comment so that i know! kind concrit is also welcome! you can also find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/hope_boos) or [curious cat](https://curiouscat.me/hobiyaah)
> 
> you can rt this fic [here!](https://twitter.com/hope_boos/status/1268220381216878593?s=20)  
> and as always, thank u beta [rachel](https://twitter.com/koyahyah)  
> <3
> 
> if you didnt check them out before, please consider going through the blm links in the start notes! every little helps! it also should be said that i have no first one second hand experience with cystic fibrosis and got much of my info about it from online anecdotes, medical sites, korean sources, videos etc.. if you find any of this offensively inaccurate please let me know!!


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